Guardian Angel
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is an AU story, starting at the time of the Castle pilot. Kate is the rabbit hole, and Johanna receives permission to come back to earth to try to help her daughter.
1. Chapter 1

Guardian Angel

Chapter 1

"What am I going to do with you, Beckett?" Roy Montgomery asks, shaking his head. "Every spare minute you have, you're poring over your mother's case file looking for clues you know aren't there. Do I have to bar you from the cold case archives?"

Kate stands with her hands behind her, twisting her fingers. "No, Sir. We both know that I have the best homicide case closure record in the precinct, possibly the city. As my experience grows, something may jump out at me I didn't see before."

Montgomery swipes his palm over his rapidly thinning hair. "But sometimes there's nothing more to see. As hard as we try, only 30% of the murders in this city get solved. You know that. Random violence is the hardest thing to get a handle on. Considering the limited life span of gang members, your mother's killer is probably dead by now himself. You're not just a gifted detective, Kate, you're a smart and talented woman. You need to give yourself a break. Take up needlepoint or beer brewing. Sing karaoke — anything besides driving yourself crazy over a mystery you'll never solve."

"Is that an order, Sir?"

"It's a very strong suggestion. I hate to see my best detective burn out, and that's what's going to happen if you keep on this way."

Kate squares her shoulders, drawing herself to her full height. "I'm fine, Sir."

"No, you're not, Kate, but I can't help you if you won't help yourself."

* * *

Rafael looks up as Johanna approaches his station. "The Father told me to expect you. You've been worried about your daughter."

"As the Father knows, my death opened a gash in Kate's soul. I watch her every day, hoping she'll get better and start moving on with her life, but she's getting worse. You're the angel of healing. There must be something you can do."

"Johanna, you've been well instructed in the rules of free will," Rafael replies. "There is evil and pain in the world. You know that as well as anyone. If you hadn't chosen to fight it, the world would be a worse place, but you might have walked the earth longer. Kate makes her own choices, as you did. Eventually, she will be freed from her bonds, as you were."

"But she is suffering!" Johanna protests. "My husband is suffering too. You hear his prayers every day, for the strength to stay away from the bottle."

"His prayers are good, and they're working, Johanna. With the support of others, including Kate, he has some measure of earthly peace."

"Kate can help him, but she can't help herself. There must be something you can do, something the Father will allow."

"Perhaps," Rafael considers, stilling and closing his eyes in prayer. He opens them after a moment, looking down at Johanna. "He will not permit my direct intervention, but he will allow yours. You'll be given a chance to guide your daughter, but not control her or the way any events unfold. You can deliver your messages, but Kate must choose her own path."

"How will I do that?" Johanna wonders.

"You'll receive what you need to open the door, but Kate must walk through it on her own. So says the Father."

"I hear his words," Johanna acknowledges.

* * *

Esposito points to the flower-covered body. "Beckett will like this one. It's weird enough."

Ryan sneezes into his elbow. "I hope she likes it fast. My allergies are killing me."

"Then go canvass, Ryan," Kate suggests from the doorway. "Someone should have seen the killer come in here with sunflowers and rose petals, a killer who reads Richard Castle."

"Who's Richard Castle?" Esposito asks.

Ryan rolls his watering eyes. "He's a mystery writer, Bro. Not as good as Sue Grafton, but not bad to read on a plane. I got through one of his books when I went to visit my _seanmháthair_ in Ireland."

Esposito snorts. "Your what?"

"His grandmother," Kate injects.

"Anyway," Ryan continues, "it was about a guy named Derrick Storm, but," Ryan sneezes again, "it didn't have anything like this setup in it."

Kate stiffens. "This scene was from one of his earlier works. Get out of here, Ryan, before you contaminate the whole crime scene. Esposito, wait for CSU. I'm going to hunt down Castle."

* * *

The sunglasses Rick is wearing against the bright lights at his book party contribute to his bad-boy persona, but he wishes that someone would turn down the music, or better still, turn it off. His head has been pounding since his conversation with his publisher and ex-wife, Gina Cowell. She's pissed that he killed off Derrick Storm, not because she loves the character but due to her fear of falling sales. Hell, she never liked Rick's avatar, the taller, stronger version of himself. Castle's not sure Gina ever liked him, either. He's a profit center, one that looks like it might become a little shaky. Well, screw Gina. He's no longer inspired by her or anyone else. He invested his royalties well. Alexis' trust and college fund are solid. His mother will be fine too. Maybe he'll just … what? A writer is all he's ever wanted to be. What the hell will he do with himself?

A woman approaches giggling and pulling at the buttons on her blouse. "Will you sign my chest?"

"All right, here we go," Rick mutters under his breath, pulling a marker out of the pocket of his jacket. "Of course. What would you like me to use to dot the 'i'?"

Invisible to the living unless she wishes to be otherwise, Johanna gazes at Castle. Her favorite author — and Kate's — is in bad shape. Too bad Kate has to see him like this, but she's determinedly making her way across the room. Johanna only has permission to help her daughter, but every stone in a pond creates ripples. The Father willing, Richard Castle may be caught up in the tide.

Rick involuntarily shrinks back as Kate shoves her badge in front of his face. "Richard Castle, I'm Detective Beckett. I need you to come with me. I have questions about a murder."

"Detective, I assume that you aren't referring to a fictional one. To tell the truth," Rick confesses, "I'd like nothing better than to get out of here and be grilled by you. But I'm obligated to stay for," he consults his watch, "20 more minutes. You wouldn't want me breaking a contract, would you? I also need to make sure that my mother and my daughter make it into a cab to take them home. After that, I'm all yours. The hors d'oeuvres are free, and the mini quiches aren't half bad. You can help yourself while you wait."

"No, thank you, Mr. Castle. Police officers aren't allowed to accept gratuities, but we don't encourage people to violate contracts or strand their families, either. I'll wait."

* * *

Rick stares at Detective Beckett across the metal table in what he assumes is an interrogation room. She plops an 8 X 10 photograph in front of him. "Do you recognize that?"

"Of course I do," Rick responds indignantly. "It's an imitation of a murder scene in 'Flowers for Your Grave.' It's not a very good one, though."

Kate pulls the picture back and examines it. "Sunflowers on her eyes, rose petals covering her naked body. What's wrong with it?"

"The murderer in my book respected the modesty of his kill. It was a vital element of his psychology. He covered her with petals from head to toe. This one wasn't nearly so considerate. Most of the victim's legs are bare. Also, it looks like the killer used the wrong kind of rose petals. These are solid red. In my book, they were tinged with pink, more for a friend than a lover. I only implied as much, but it was an important detail. As a detective, I'm sure you know that the tiniest things can be clues. Your killer was sloppy, and he didn't think much of his victim. To screw up like that as a copycat, he most likely didn't think much of the police, either. When you find him, he'll probably turn out to be an arrogant asshat."

Kate springs to her feet, leaning into Rick's face. "Are you arrogant, Mr. Castle?"

"If you ask my ex-wife, perhaps. But arrogant or not, I can account for my whereabouts pretty much every minute for at least the last 24 hours. I'm not the murderer, Detective, but I'd be fascinated to find out who the psycho jerk who tried to steal my work is. How can I help?"


	2. Chapter 2

Guardian Angel

Chapter 2

Kate smacks a legal pad on the table in front of Castle and hands him a pen. "The first thing you need to do is make a list of everywhere you've been in the last 12 hours and who can confirm you've been there."

"So, the victim was killed today?" Rick assumes.

"That's really none of your concern, Mr. Castle. Make sure that you include contact information for any witnesses to your whereabouts."

Castle raises his hand in mock salute. "Yes, Ma'am. This won't take me long. I spent most of the day before the party at my loft. You are free to check with my daughter, my mother, and the doorman. His name is Eduardo Perez. If you remain unconvinced, you can also check the metadata on my postings to social media. I have GPS on my phone. My family and I took a cab to the party. I paid with a credit card. It's a business expense. I have a receipt. After that, there are a couple of hundred witnesses plus the mandatory PR photos."

"I will confirm all of that," Mr. Castle, Kate assures him as he writes. "You can wait here while I do."

"I don't suppose I could get a cup of coffee," Castle wonders, "or better still some water and a couple of aspirin."

"Too much free Champagne, Castle?" Kate prods.

"Something like that."

"The city's lawyers would go ballistic if cops gave suspects pills. Too much liability or even the chance of a claim that we drugged them into a confession."

Castle arches an eyebrow. "That would make an interesting plotline."

"I can bring you some coffee, though," Kate offers. "The taste might distract you from your headache."

"Thank you, Detective. I appreciate the effort."

* * *

Kate could use a cup of coffee herself when she's checked out enough of Castle's alibi to confirm that he isn't her killer, but she knows better than to drink the dregs left in the pot. Castle looks up as she strides back into Interrogation. "You were right. Your coffee is remarkably awful. Not a great way to treat the defenders of our city. One might even make a case for cruel and unusual punishment. Ever consider replacing the machine and buying some decent beans?"

Kate shrugs. "You can't say I didn't warn you, Mr. Castle. And if you haven't noticed, there's a recession. The city's in a budget crunch. Anything not strictly necessary to enforce the law is off the table. Anyway, it's not your problem." She inclines her head toward the door. "Your alibi's good. You can go."

Castle makes no effort to rise from his seat. "Just like that? I don't think so. I told you I want to help, Detective. This killer obviously feels connected to me somehow. There must be something I can do."

Castle's expression is not what Kate's used to seeing on Page Six. Unconsciously, she rakes her hair back from her face. His eyes are a deeper blue than they look in the photos on his book jackets, enhancing the seriousness of his gaze. She drops back into her chair as Johanna observes unseen from a corner of the room. "All right, Mr. Castle."

"Now that I'm not a suspect, you can call me Rick," he interrupts.

"I'll stick with Mr. Castle," Kate returns. "I assume you get fan mail."

"I do," Rick confirms.

"Is any of it disturbing?"

"A lot of it is disturbing, Detective. I'm afraid that's an occupational hazard. My readers view me as leading an exciting and glamorous life. They reach out, trying to experience that illusion."

"An illusion, Mr. Castle? Your party looked pretty exciting and glamorous to me. Most men don't spend their evenings signing strange women's breasts."

"I assure you, Detective Beckett, I spend as few of mine as possible that way. My mother thinks it's crass, and my daughter finds it embarrassing. But it's a necessary evil, at least in my publisher's opinion. However, you were asking me about my fan mail. I would guess that you believe the killer might be trying to correspond with me."

Kate nods. "It's a possibility. Do you store the letters somewhere?"

"My agent keeps files. She has someone go through them to answer picture requests and such. Sometimes I answer the ones with interesting questions, especially from aspiring writers, myself. I started writing as a kid, and I like to give younger hopefuls a hand if I can."

"I suppose that's very admirable, Mr. Castle. I'll need to go through those files as soon as possible."

"I'll make sure my agent gives you access."

Johanna follows her daughter's gaze as Castle gets on the elevator. Maybe, just maybe, he's what Kate needs, or part of it. Johanna's not about to pop out of thin air and greet her daughter in a police station, but her chance will come.

* * *

Alexis looks up from the book she's reading as Castle lets himself into the loft. "Are you OK, Dad?"

"I'm fine, but you shouldn't still be up, Pumpkin."

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't know what that cop would do to you."

"Other than giving me the worst coffee I've ever tasted, she didn't do me any harm. Detective Beckett had questions. I answered them."

Alexis regards her father's face. "You smiled when you said her name and not that phony smile you paste on at your book parties. You like her, don't you, Dad?"

"I just met her," Castle protests, "and know nothing about her. But what I saw, I did find intriguing."

"So, are you going to see her again?" Alexis presses.

Rick nods thoughtfully. "I could make that happen. I just might."

* * *

Kate wearily drops her purse just inside the door of her apartment and throws her light jacket on a chair. So far, the only clue she has as to who killed Allison Tisdale is that the murderer reads Richard Castle novels, and apparently not too carefully. She could be on that list herself, except that she had no reason to kill a social worker. She has no reason to kill anyone except the bastard who murdered her mother. "I'm sorry, Mom," she tells the empty air. "I keep trying to get justice for you, but I've hit a brick wall."

Kate blinks as she hears a familiar voice. "That doesn't mean you have to keep banging your head against it." Kate's gaze sweeps the room as her mother shimmers into sight. "Oh, God! Mom, you can't be here! I went with Dad to the morgue. I saw your dead body. I watched your coffin go into the ground. I must be going crazy."

"You're not," Johanna assures her daughter. "My body is long gone, the molecules recycling into the universe, becoming new life. But my spirit didn't die. It's here to keep you from continuing to torture yourself. You're not responsible for my death, Kate. There is nothing you could have done to prevent it. And the Father found ways to make it work to the good. How many families found peace who wouldn't have if my loss hadn't driven you to become a cop? But that drive has overcome you. The Father doesn't want that, and neither do I. You deserve some peace yourself. And you deserve love, a lot more than you allow yourself to have in your life now."

"Mom, are you here to tell me who murdered you?"

"No, I'm not. I don't know who it was. He came from behind, and I never saw his face. If you are meant to find him, you will, but there's another path in front of you right now. You need to follow it."

* * *

As the first rays of the sun sneak around the drapes on her window, Kate opens her eyes. "That was an incredible dream," she mutters, still half asleep.

Johanna appears at the side of Kate's bed. "It wasn't a dream."


	3. Chapter 3

Guardian Angel

Chapter 3

Kate isn't sure how much good wearing her gloves will do as she examines the last three months of Castle's fan mail. Countless hands have touched the envelopes, and at the least, she'll have to eliminate the fingerprints of Paula Haas' office staff from the letters.

From what Castle told her, his prints may be on some of the documents as well, especially the ones set aside as "Special Interest Castle." She's studying that folder when Castle strolls in. "What are you doing here?"

Castle hangs his jacket on Paula's antique coat rack. "I've been corresponding with a group of my readers for some time, a few of them for years. I may be able to offer some insight into their behavior."

"Do you have a psychology degree or something, Castle?" Kate inquires.

"No, but it was my minor in college. It's helped me construct more believable portraits of my characters. You're diving into evaluating these writings cold, Detective. I'm familiar with most of the authors and their various quirks. I can go through them for anything I might have glossed over on my first reading. If nothing else, I may be able to speed your work along."

Kate frowns. "You could contaminate whatever evidence is here. Your hands are huge, and I'm not carrying a pair of gloves that will fit you."

Castle grins, pulling gloves from the pocket of the jacket he'd hung on the rack, and slips them on. "All set, Detective. You can pass me the collection of missives you're looking at right now, but my fingerprints will already be all over those letters anyway. Probably my DNA too. Any correspondent, in particular, catch your interest?"

Kate holds up an envelope with a precisely penned back address. "This guy writes to you a lot."

Castle glances at the back address and nods. "Yes, Kyle Cabot. We've been pen-pals, so to speak, for at least five years. He's kind of a fanfic writer and decided to share his life story with me. He's had a hard time of it. He was flailing around with unidentified problems until someone finally hung PDD NOS on him. I looked it up. It's like autism with some missing symptoms. People like Kyle can write a story but not remember to shower. They can have sensory difficulties and troubles with interactions with other people. Until a social worker twigged to what was going on with him, he couldn't hold a job, and he almost ended up living on the street. She kept that from happening, and he's seemed a lot happier lately. Even his stories are better written."

"Wait, Castle! A social worker? Did Kyle tell you her name?"

"He called her Miss Tisdale."

"Castle, the woman under the rose petals was Allison Tisdale. Kyle could be our killer."

Castle shakes his head. "No way! Kyle adored Miss Tisdale. There's also no way he'd mess up on details from one of my books, either. He knows them better than I do. His connection to your victim has to be a coincidence."

"That could be, Castle. But right now, Kyle is a suspect, and I'm going to have to bring him in for questioning."

Rick puts a hand on Kate's arm. "He'll be scared to death. Let me be there when you interview him. At least he'll see a friendly face."

Kate's mouth falls open as Johanna appears next to Castle, but she quickly forces it shut. "Don't worry, Kate, he can't see me or hear me. But don't play the hard-ass," Johanna advises. "That's not the real you, and you know it. You've always had compassion. Let Castle be there for Kyle."

Shaking herself, Kate looks up at Castle. "Fine. You can be there when I question Kyle Cabot, but don't try to interfere."

Castle raises his hands in surrender. "Detective, I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Rocking back and forth, Kyle covers his ears as the legs of his chair squeak against the floor. "It's going to be OK, Buddy," Castle attempts to reassure him, not even knowing if his words will penetrate. Kyle shrinks back as Kate drops her leather folder on the table. "Take it easy, Detective," Castle urges, "he's sensitive to loud noises."

"You promised you wouldn't interfere," Kate whispers, but keeps her voice low. "Mr. Cabot, do you like Mr. Castle's books?"

"I admire the way he uses the distinctive voice of the genre," Kyle replies.

Kate raises a questioning eyebrow at Castle. "I told you, Detective, Kyle's a writer." Rick smiles at the young man. "He has a writer's extensive vocabulary."

"Fine," Kate responds. "Then, he shouldn't have any problems answering my questions. Kyle, tell me where you were yesterday."

"I was in eight locations yesterday," Kyle explains. "What time yesterday?"

"Between 2 p.m. and 5 p.m."

"I was in my apartment, number 5C at 550 West 45th Street at 2 p.m. At 2:05, I took the bus to Manny's market on Columbus Ave and 75th Street. They have candy strings, the red, not the black ones. I was there from 2:45 to 2:52 when the bus came to take me back to 44th Street. I got off the bus at 3:33 and walked to my apartment house. I stopped in the lobby to get my mail. There was a bill from Con Edison and my Comicadia catalog. Then I took the elevator to my apartment. I was there from 3:50 to 5:00, outlining two chapters of Fenster's Fury."

Suspicion prickles at the nape of Kate's neck. "How do you know the times so precisely, Kyle?"

He holds up his wrist and points to his watch. "I have this, and I like keeping track of my schedule. Miss Tisdale told me that some people have a natural affinity for direction, but I have an affinity for time."

"Who is Miss Tisdale?" Kate asks.

Kyle stops rocking with a sudden grin. "She's my caseworker. She helped me find a job and a place to live. She also helped me track down some of Mr. Castle's books, the early editions, in the stores on Canal Street. She's nice."

"When's the last time you saw Miss Tisdale?" Kate asks.

"Monday at 6:15 p.m. She came to Kelsey's Diner, where I work. I bus the tables, rinse off the dirty dishes, and put them in the dishwasher. Miss Tisdale asked me if I still liked working there and ordered an egg cream. I watched to make sure Jimmy put enough chocolate syrup in it. He's supposed to pump three times, but sometimes he only pumps twice. She said she'd be back to check on me next month, but I should call her if I need her. Can I call her now?"

His chest tightening, Rick catches Kate's eye with a questioning look. As she nods, Castle turns to Kyle. "Buddy, I'm so sorry, but Miss Tisdale can't be your caseworker anymore."

"Why not?" Kyle asks.

"Do you remember what happened in "Flowers for Her Grave?" Castle queries gently. "Someone did that to her."

"She's dead," Kyle replies flatly, rocking again. "My mother died. My father died. People always die. When my mother died, someone sent roses, but they had no scent. Miss Tisdale always smelled pretty. Her rose petals should have smelled pretty too."

Kate leans toward Kyle. "I saw the rose petals and smelled them. They smelled very pretty."

Kyle nods. "That's good."


	4. Chapter 4

Guardian Angel

Chapter 4

"Kyle, I'm going to have to check out what you told me," Kate explains. "I need you to stay here until I'm finished."

"I'll stay with him," Castle volunteers. "Maybe we can work on a story together while we wait."

'All right, Castle," Kate agrees. "I'll try to make this as quick as possible."

Kate drops into her desk chair and looks up the number for Manny's market.

"You don't really believe Kyle did it, do you?" Johanna asks, appearing next to Kate's desk.

Kate glances around to see if anyone is looking, but the other detectives are all involved in work of their own. Still, she hunches down, hiding her face from view behind her computer. "Mom, what I believe doesn't matter. Kyle's a suspect. He knew the victim and is familiar with Castle's work. I have to check his alibi."

"It's nice of Castle to stay with him," Johanna offers.

"Yes, I guess it is," Kate admits. "He said he wanted to help. I guess he meant with more than solving the case. I thought he was doing that to lift any cloud that might be hanging over his head. I don't know what he's getting out of supporting Kyle."

"Does he have to be getting anything out of it, Kate?" Johanna queries. "Maybe he feels it's the right thing to do. Doing the right thing is why I went into civil rights law, and why your father fights for consumers. It should have been why you became a cop. But it isn't, is it? You abandoned your dream of being the first female chief justice to pursue revenge."

"Not revenge, justice," Kate insists.

"If it's justice you want, hurry up and make your calls to free Kyle and go find Allison's real murderer."

"Do you know who it is, Mom?" Kate asks.

"It's only the Father who's omniscient, Kate. I don't know any more than you do except that it is obvious that the young man in there is grieving. So I'll leave you to get on with it, and while you're at it, a kind thought or two for Castle wouldn't hurt either. Sometimes we don't see what's right in front of our face." Johanna fades away, leaving Kate staring at empty air.

* * *

"You can go now, Mr. Cabot," Kate announces as she opens the door to Interrogation. "I can have some officers take you home."

Kyle starts to rock again. "They won't use the siren, will they? I can't stand sirens. They make me feel like I want to pull my ears off."

"If it's all right, I can take him home," Castle interjects. "My car doesn't have a siren. We can even stop at Comicadia along the way. If memory serves, there's a new Ironman out today."

"A new Ironman," Kyle agrees, "and a new Thor."

"I stand corrected," Castle concedes. "What do you say, Detective Beckett?"

"Sure, Castle, take Mr. Cabot home and…"

Ryan runs over, waving a sticky note. "Beckett, we've got a fresh one."

"Looks like we're all leaving," Castle notes. "Good luck, Detective."

* * *

Kate looks up to see Castle ducking beneath the yellow tape securing the area where a body was fished out of a swimming pool. "Castle, get back behind the line. What are you doing at my crime scene, anyway?"

"After I got Kyle home, I saw a tweet thread about a stabbing here, and I had a feeling. My copycat's struck again, hasn't he? It looks like 'Death of a Prom Queen.'"

"I think so, Castle," Kate admits.

Lanie groans as she pushes up from kneeling next to the recovered body and limps over to talk to Kate. "I should have brought a pad or something. That tile is hard — and wet too." She smiles up at Rick. "Hi, I'm Lanie Parish, medical examiner. I assume you're the infamous Richard Castle."

"Rick," Castle corrects. "And I don't know how infamous, but this is staged like a murder from one of my books, except that," Castle shifts position to see the body better, "her dress is the wrong color." He gazes back at Kate. "I would be happy to examine the scene and let you know of any other flaws in the killer's presentation. Who knows? The murderer's errors might provide a clue to his identity."

"You should let him try, Kate," Lanie urges. "CSU probably won't get much here. The chlorine in the pool water can really screw up evidence."

"Fine," Kate agrees. "You might notice something helpful, Castle. I need to question some potential witnesses, but you can fill me in later if you find anything."

"I look forward to it, Detective."

* * *

Kate glances up as a large hand places a cup from Java Hut on her desk. She turns to see Castle holding a matching container. "I thought if we're going to discuss the case, we might as well do it over some decent coffee. Yours has a little vanilla in it. I noticed a bottle of it, labeled 'Beckett,' in the break room."

A smile tugs at Kate's lips as she takes a cautious sip. "It's great, Castle. Thank you."

Rick points at a worn chair next to her desk. "Can I sit here?"

Kate shrugs. "Make yourself comfortable. Did you find something at the crime scene?"

"Yeah, I did. The dress wasn't just the wrong color; it was the wrong style. The one the teen in my book was wearing was sleeveless. She bought it because she'd fallen in love with the designer original when she saw it on a pre-Oscars show. The killer didn't spend much on the gown the victim was wearing. Lanie and I went over it together. It had a mark inside, the kind you find on garments from a thrift shop. I remember my mother used to buy clothes from one when she needed a more subdued look to help her get a handle on a character. She dragged me along as a beast of burden.

"Also, the knife was wrong. In my book, the killer used an antique blade, and the handle was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The one Lanie found sticking in the victim is cheap, with a plastic handle, like you could buy at the supermarket.

"Detective, I think the killer is a penny pincher or has fallen on hard times. But anyway, we might want to start checking thrift stores for someone who bought the dress, and maybe even supermarkets for the knife. They use those discount cards to keep track of what customers buy so they can aim their marketing and sell the data. The name of our murderer may lurk in a corporate computer, waiting for us to uncover it."

"It may be waiting for me to uncover it, Castle," Kate insists. "I'm grateful for the help, really, but I think you've done more than enough. I can take it from here."

"Detective Beckett, I can't just drop working on the case like that. Now I have a double copycat, who is still probably one of my readers, if a cheap one. Oh, wow! That's another clue. Remember when Kyle told us that Allison Tisdale helped him find my old books in the shops on Canal Street? That may be where our killer got them too. I've hunted for hidden treasure in those places myself. Some of the owners like to talk up the customers and keep track of what they like. That way, they can call or email them when something of interest comes in. A dress, a knife, books; that's a veritable cavalcade of clues. I could write the solution to a case around any one of them."

"This is real life, not a novel, Castle," Kate argues, as Johanna appears, giving her "the look." "However, I get your point. Hey, it's the end of my shift, but if you like, we can go treasure hunting tomorrow."

"Detective, I would like that very much."


	5. Chapter 5

Guardian Angel

Chapter 5

"Did you spend all day with Detective Beckett?" Alexis asks, slicing tomatoes for a salad.

"Not all of it," Castle responds, "I spent part of it with her suspect; her innocent suspect as it turned out. But I'll be working on the case with her again tomorrow."

"Are you going to write about it?" Alexis wonders. "You haven't written much since you killed off Derrick Storm."

"No one is more aware of that than I am," Castle admits. "I tried a few new characters, but none of them called to me. However, I think I have one in mind now that will."

"You're basing her on Detective Beckett," Alexis concludes.

"You know," Castle mulls, "sometimes you're uncomfortably perceptive. Beckett is the most interesting woman I've met since — I don't remember when. If I can't base a character on her, I'm not sure I could base one on anyone."

"So, how are you going to be working with her tomorrow?"

Castle grins, rippling his eyebrows. "We are going to mine used bookstore gold."

"Don't forget your handkerchief," Alexis cautions.

* * *

Squatting in front of a crowded bottom shelf in Jonah's Vintage Books, Rick sneezes into a large square of white cotton. Alexis was right, but then his daughter usually is, sometimes annoyingly so. Used bookstores tend to send him running for an antihistamine, but they are so worth it. "You should like this collection, Beckett. It's all-female detectives, Smilla Jaspersen, Mary Russell, and ooh, Darlene O'Hara. She's an N.Y.P.D. cop, like you."

"Except that I would never name a kid Axl Rose, Castle. And I don't have a drinking problem — at least not yet. I prefer Eve Dallas."

"Beautiful, brilliant, and take charge. I can see where you'd relate." Castle raises an eyebrow. "She does fall in love with a man who's both rich and handsome."

"I don't worry about that part, Castle. Anyway, I didn't come here to pick up reading material." She consults the large watch on her wrist. "The clerk said Jonah would be showing up about now."

The bell over the shop door tinkles. "And here he is," Castle announces, waving at the proprietor.

A cadaverous face twists in a macabre simulation of a smile. "Richard Castle, you've arrived at the perfect time! I just got in a shipment of the complete works of Doc Smith, not just the Lensmen and Skylark series but the later books like Galaxy Primes. I know you like his writing."

"Other than his mistaken belief in the ether, what is not to like?" Castle queries. "Heinlein practically worshipped the man. I would love to take a look, but first, Detective Beckett here has some questions."

"Mr.?" Kate inquires.

"Carradine, but call me Jonah," the corpse-like figure suggests. "Everyone does. Ask away, Detective."

"I'm looking for someone who bought some of Castle's early books. He might have been searching for a bargain."

"Not Kyle Cabot," Castle adds.

Jonah strokes his long jaw. "There was a man like that. As I recall, he bought 'Flowers for Her Grave,' 'Death of a Prom Queen,' and 'Hell Hath no Fury.' The copies were pretty beat up, not what a collector would want. He talked me down to 50 cents apiece. Seemed pretty proud of himself."

"Fifty cents?" Castle repeats. 'That's not a bargain; it's an insult!"

"Do you remember the purchaser's name?" Kate asks.

"No, and he paid cash, so I don't have a record. But I can give you a description," Jonah offers.

"Please," Kate urges.

Jonah closes his eyes. "Thirtyish, brown hair, brown eyes, about medium height. And I think he had money, or maybe used to have money. His clothes were expensive."

"Thanks, Jonah, that helps more than you know. And I'll take the whole load of Smith books," Castle adds. "Charge it to my usual card and ship it to my loft."

"Will do," Jonah confirms.

As soon as Jonah's bell tinkles their exit, Castle turns to Kate. "Our killer bought a third book. Do you think there's going to be another murder?"

"Or maybe there already has been," Kate considers. "Another detective could be the primary, and we might not have made the connection. But Castle, there are probably thousands of men in New York that fit the description Jonah gave us. We're not much closer to catching the murderer than we were."

"Maybe we are," Castle suggests as they walk toward Kate's unit. "Normally, you search out the people closest to the victim and talk to them, don't you?"

"We do," Kate agrees. "Ryan and Esposito were on that, but they didn't have an easy time of it. Allison Tisdale is the daughter of Jonathan Tisdale."

"The real estate mogul?"

"Right. Anyway, Tisdale is not an easy man to get to. They ended up making the notification by phone. Allison had a brother, Harrison, but his secretary said he was out of town and wouldn't give them his mobile number."

Castle pulls out his phone. "People are always fascinated by money. There have to be tons of gossip on the Tisdales."

"Gossip isn't evidence, Castle."

"I know that Detective, but it could point us in the right direction. Ah, here we go. This is from six months ago. 'Harrison Tisdale steps out on the town.' There are pictures. He has brown hair and brown eyes. Looks like he might be average height, too. And wow! Listen to this. 'If Harrison Tisdale ever had his father's Midas touch, he lost it. Word is he's been schmoozing investors, trying to bail out his failing development company. Question of the week: Why can't he ask The Developer King for some family gold? What's going on in the Tisdale family?' Beckett, we need to talk to the Tisdales. I think Jonathan Tisdale is a major contributor to the mayor's literacy project. I throw a few dollars at it myself. Maybe Mayor Weldon can get me an intro."

Kate shrugs. "It might be worth a try, Castle. Better than cooling our heels behind six assistants trying to shield their grieving boss. You go ahead and work on it. I'll find out if there was a murder that fits with 'Hell Hath No Fury.'"

"The victim should be a middle-aged male, smothered to death."

"I know. I read it," Kate confesses.

"Detective! Only hardcore Castle fans read that one. It was in the bargain bin within months."

"My mom was a fan, and my dad used to pick up your books for her as soon as they were released. I read her copy."

"Was a fan?"

"My mother was murdered when I was 19. The N.Y.P.D. never caught her killer."

Castle nods slowly, a picture forming in his mind. "I'm sorry, Detective. It must have been very painful going through that without getting any closure. Have you ever tried reopening the case?"

"As far as I'm concerned, it was never closed," Kate declares. "But we have the one in front of us to solve. Touch base with the mayor. I need to go back to the precinct and check on recent murders."

* * *

"You want to see Jonathan Tisdale, Rick?" Bob Weldon queries. "I'll try to set something up for you. But I just talked to him yesterday. He's in a bad way. If you and your lady detective meet with him, go easy, OK? I can't give you details, but he's been through a lot. Allison's death is just the worst and latest blow. He adored her."

"What about her brother Harrison?" Castle asks.

Weldon snorts. "Not much there worth adoring."


	6. Chapter 6

Guardian Angel

Chapter 6

Castle's cell chimes just as he's reaching for it. "Detective Beckett, I was just going to call you. Bob Weldon got back to me. He's cleared the path to Jonathan Tisdale. If we show up at his office, we'll get a few minutes."

"That's great Castle, but there's somewhere we should go first. The third murder was actually the first one. Detective McNulty was on it two weeks ago. The victim was Marvin Fisk, a regular at Kelsey's diner."

"So our killer was setting up the connection with Kyle Cabot," Castle surmises.

"Looks like it," Kate agrees. "Fisk was strangled with his necktie."

"The killer was lazy about this one too. Fisk should have been smothered with a plastic bag," Castle points out.

"Right," Kate acknowledges. "Listen, some of CSU's analyses are still running, so the scene hasn't been released. I'm going to have a look at it. You want to come with me?"

"Yeah, I want to come with you," Castle confirms. "I'll be at the precinct in 10 minutes."

Johanna pops into view as Kate ends her call. "Castle is becoming more and more useful, isn't he?"

"He is," Kate admits. "I told him about your murder."

"I know, I heard you."

"Are you around all the time?" Kate wonders.

"Most of the time. Occasionally I have to - I guess you'd say check in - upstairs. But Kate, if you're doing something you'd be embarrassed for me to see, I'll leave you alone for a while."

"How will you know?" Kate queries.

"We could have a safe word," Johanna suggests, "something you wouldn't normally say."

"How about 'quit?'" Kate proposes.

"That is a word I've rarely known you to use," Johanna notes. "All right. 'Quit,' it is."

* * *

Kate carefully draws the tip of her knife through the seal on Marvin Fisk's apartment and unlocks the door. Castle looks around, immediately gravitating toward a crate of books. "If Fisk were still alive, he might be wearing a white hood. His collection is obscene, and I don't mean that in a nice way. There's crap about preserving the purity of the race and white supremacy. God, there's even a book from the thirties on eugenics. Grimacing, Castle flips through the pages. "This trash advocates sterilizing the developmentally disabled so they don't pollute the gene pool. If Fisk clashed with Kyle, he would have been the perfect choice of a kill to set up a frame. How about the prom queen? Was she connected to Kyle in some way?"

Kate shakes her head. "Not that I've been able to find so far, but the killer might have just chosen a random victim as a further distraction."

Castle shudders. "We've got to get this guy, Beckett."

"We will, Castle. Let's finish going over this place, and then we can go see Jonathan Tisdale."

"I don't suppose I could catch a shower in between. I'd feel cleaner in a sewer than around Fisk's _dreck_."

"I know what you mean. I can drop you at your loft and catch one at my apartment. Then I'll pick you up on my way uptown."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Jonathan Tisdale supports himself on his desk as he stands to greet Kate and Rick. "Please sit down. Bob Weldon assures me that you two are doing everything possible to solve my daughter's murder. I'm not sure how I can be of help. I don't know of anyone who would want to hurt Allison. Everyone loved her."

Before settling into a chair, Castle scans the room. He notes the oil portrait of Jonathan Tisdale and a blown-up photograph of Tisdale with Allison and Harrison as children. Something about Harrison's eyes gives Rick the shivers.

"I have a few questions, Mr. Tisdale," Kate explains, "and you've already answered the first one. But if there is no one with a personal grudge against Allison, is there anyone who would benefit from her death? Does she have a trust or an estate?"

Tisdale shakes his head before carefully lifting a hand to his hair. "Allison was never interested in money for herself, but she enlisted me to support various charities from time to time. She's the one who steered me toward Bob's literacy project. And I've always expected my children to make their own way."

"We have something in common," Castle confides. "My daughter put her foot to my rear end to get me involved with the literacy program too. Alexis is only 15, but she doesn't generally ask me for anything beyond a reasonable allowance. However, I have made provisions to make sure she's provided for if something should happen to me. Did Allison stand to inherit at your passing?"

"As you probably know, I've been fortunate enough to accumulate a great deal of wealth, more than any person would ever need. Much of it has already been transferred to a foundation serving a number of worthy causes. The remainder was supposed to pass equally to my children, Allison and Harrison." Tisdale swallows. "Now, Harrison will receive all of it."

"Were Harrison and Allison close?" Kate inquires.

"They weren't while they were growing up, but within the last couple of months, Harrison was going out of his way to spend time with his sister. They had regular Thursday evening suppers at a place called Kelsey's Diner. I was surprised that Harrison agreed to that. His tastes tend to lean more toward Le Cirque. But I was glad to see the two of them getting along."

"If Allison and Harrison were exchanging confidences, perhaps he'd be able to tell us something that might help us solve her murder," Kate suggests. "We have had trouble contacting Harrison. Two of my fellow detectives were told he's out of town."

"If he was, he's back," Jonathan asserts. "He came to see me yesterday." Jonathan quickly jots a few words on a sticky note and hands it to Kate. "That's Harrison's cellphone number and the address of his apartment. If you can't reach him, let me know."

Kate tucks the note into the pocket of her jacket. "Thank you, Mr. Tisdale. I will."

"He's dying," Castle declares as he and Kate reach the sidewalk in front of the Tisdale building. "Did you notice how he looked in his portrait? He's lost at least 30 pounds since it was painted, and not buffing up, either. He's using makeup to give his face some color, but his hands are pale. He's wearing a hairpiece too. Did you see him make sure it didn't slip? Tisdale's got cancer, Kate. Weldon hinted that there was something seriously wrong. It was easy to see what."

"Even if you're right, lots of people survive cancer, Castle," Kate argues. "Being sick doesn't mean he's dying."

"But transferring his funds to a foundation might. And did you hear what Tisdale said about Harrison cozying up to Allison — and eating at Kelsey's? That sonofabitch wants to cash in on his father's death, and he wants everything he can get. He picked Kyle to take the fall and made sure he found out enough about him to make it work. Then he put his plan in motion by killing Fisk. But he screwed up with more than the details from my books. He didn't count on Kyle being able to account for every minute of his time."

"Castle, that's a great theory, but that's all it is: a theory," Kate insists. "We'll need to get something out of Harrison to help us prove it. Let's check out his apartment."

"Detective, I look forward to watching you work your magic."


	7. Chapter 7

Guardian Angel

Chapter 7

Neither Kate's insistent ringing of Harrison Tisdale's doorbell nor her loud raps on his door get a response from the suspect. His next-door neighbor, however, emerges. "You cops?"

"Detective Beckett," Kate replies, pointing to the badge on her belt.

"I thought someone would come for that creep eventually. He's not home, though. The walls here could be thicker, a lot thicker. I can always hear him moving around in there. And he snores too."

"Ms.?" Kate prompts.

"Squires, Nancy Squires."

"Ms. Squires, why did you think law enforcement would be coming for Mr. Tisdale? Have you seen him committing any crimes?"

"Not exactly, but there's always been something about him, like a roach coming out of the woodwork. When he'd see me picking up the newspaper, or going down to do laundry, he'd be leering at me. And when I saw him coming in a couple of days ago, there were a few little dots on his suit. They looked like dried blood."

"Do you know when he usually comes in?" Kate asks.

"He doesn't keep regular hours, but he's usually home and snoring away by the time I go to work. I'm a medical technologist at TestWell, and our lab runs 24/7. I'm on the graveyard shift," Nancy explains. "I leave here about eleven-thirty. If you come back tonight, you might be able to catch him."

Kate fishes a card out of her jacket pocket and offers it to Nancy. "Thank you, Ms. Squires. You've been very helpful. If you think of anything or if Mr. Tisdale shows up, please give me a call."

"I'll do that," Nancy promises.

"Sounds like it may take a while for you to get Harrison searing on the grill," Castle asserts as he and Kate return to her unit. "Are you considering an old fashioned stakeout?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking about," Kate confirms. "You game to join me?"

Castle rubs his hands together. "Looking forward to it."

* * *

"What's in the bag?" Kate asks as Castle climbs into her unit that evening.

"Goodies to consume during our stakeout, chips, and my world-famous brownies. I brought a thermos of coffee too, and a book of Mad Libs to keep us busy while we await our quarry."

Kate's eyes roll. "Mad Libs? Really?"

"Hey! I've gotten some great ideas that way. Strange combinations can be the spice of life. At least they are in my kitchen. Anyway, I take Mad Libs along when Alexis and I are camped out to get into a con or snag tickets to a hot show. They're fun. You must have done them some time."

"When I was twelve, at a birthday party."

"Then it's past time to do some again, or do you have another favorite game?"

Kate immediately suppresses the images that flash through her mind. "All right, Castle. Bring the Mad Libs.

* * *

"Here we go," Castle declares as he and Kate await Harrison Tisdale's arrival, "I need a person."

"Suspect," Kate suggests.

"Place?"

"Penitentiary."

"A plural noun?"

"Fingerprints."

"An adverb?"

"Seriously."

"I sense a theme, here, Beckett," Castle observes.

"We're on a stakeout. What were you expecting?"

Castle sighs. "Noun?"

"Car."

"Name?"

"Ryan."

"Number?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Adjective?"

"Guilty."

"Adjective?"

"Creepy."

"Structure?"

"Apartment building."

"Number?"

"334."

"A plural noun?"

"Collars."

"Food?"

"Pizza."

"Three adjectives?"

"Nervous, jumpy, suspicious."

Castle stares at his filled-in page. "Hmm. Maybe I should have known better than to do Mad Libs with a cop."

"I don't know what you thought you were going to get, Castle. Are you going to read it or not?"

Rick shrugs. "I might as well. Once upon a time, a suspect was walking through the penitentiary. Because her fingerprints shown seriously in the car, everyone called her Ryan. After 29 hours, she became guilty and creepy. She found an apartment building belonging to 334 collars. She went in. There were bowls of pizza sitting on a table. The first one was too nervous. The second one was too jumpy. But the third was just suspicious. So she ate it all up."

Kate tilts her head at Rick, smiling. "I kind of like it. And some of the pizza we've had at the precinct has been pretty suspicious."

"Between that and the coffee, it's a wonder that you survive. Ooh, wait, isn't that Harrison Tisdale going in now?"

"And we found him at an apartment building," Kate reminds Rick, opening her car door.

"And he does look kind of jumpy," Castle notes, bounding to join her striding toward Harrison. "Now what?"

"We go talk to him."

Kate flashes her badge in Harrison's face as he waits for the elevator. "Mr. Tisdale, I'm Detective Kate Beckett. This is Richard Castle. I need to ask you some questions about your sister, and you're a hard person to reach. Shall we go upstairs?"

The inside of Harrison's collar darkens with moisture. "Poor Allison. I can't believe she's dead. I'm glad to do anything I can to help you track down her killer." After a quick ride to the sixth floor, Harrison unlocks the door of his condo and waves Kate and Castle in. "I haven't been there for Allison as much as I should have been. I'll always be sorry about that. But I did see her the Thursday before she died. We always got together at Kelsey's diner on Thursday nights. One of her psycho cases works there. I was keeping an eye on him."

"Psycho in what way, Mr. Tisdale?"

"He was always hovering near her, and he talked about scenes from your books, Mr. Castle, as if he was thinking of being in one himself. The last time Allison and I were there, that crazy wouldn't leave her alone. I think she was scared of him."

"Are you talking about Kyle Cabot?" Kate asks.

Harrison's eyes light up. "Yes, I believe that's his name. I can't think of anyone else who'd want to hurt her."

"That's very useful, Mr. Tisdale. In fact, I'd like you to come down to the 12th Precinct and tell us everything you can about the interactions you saw between your sister and Kyle Cabot. It could help us pin him down."

"I'd be happy to do that, Detective, but it's late, and Allison's death has been exhausting for me. Could we do it in the morning?"

"I understand how you must be feeling, Mr. Tisdale," Kate assures him sympathetically, "but in a homicide case, every moment counts. The longer we go without closing in on a killer, the less likely we are to do so. If you can give us some probable cause, we could arrest a suspect tonight."

"Of course, Detective. A murderer should be behind bars."

Kate ushers Harrison out of the apartment. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

Smiling, Kate gestures Harrison to a seat in Interrogation. "Mr. Tisdale, where were you when your sister was killed?"

Harrison stiffens in his chair. "Why do you need to know that? I thought we were here to talk about Kyle Cabot."

"Well, we would, Harrison," Kate explains, "but you see, we've already talked to Kyle, and I checked his alibi personally. He couldn't have killed Allison, and he didn't stand to gain anything from your sister's death. In fact, he was heartbroken at her loss."

"But you, Harrison, had everything to gain, didn't you?" Castle inserts. "Your company is going down the tubes. There isn't a bank in town that will touch you. Maybe you asked Daddy Bigbucks for money. But you didn't get it, did you? Jonathan Tisdale made it on his own and believes his son should as well. You can hardly wait for his cancer to take him so that you'll inherit, but he gave away a lot of his fortune. Too much. You wanted everything that was left. To get it, your sister had to be out of the picture."

"So you set up Kyle Cabot to take the fall," Kate continues. "You used his fascination with Mr. Castle's work to make it look like he not only killed Allison but two others as well."

"But you were as lousy at murder as you are at business," Castle presses. "You messed up details Kyle Cabot would never have gotten wrong. Face it, Harrison, you're as much a failure as your father says you are — at everything."

Harrison lunges out of his chair. "That bastard! Everything was always about Allison, how she was so kind, so giving. He didn't give a sh*t about me. He was going to die, knowing his precious daughter was at his side. After the way he treated me, I couldn't let that happen. I'm losing everything, but he's lost everything too."

"That probable cause — we had it about you," Kate informs Harrison. "You should have checked your clothes for evidence. I have a search team going over everything in your apartment right now. It can get a little messy firing five shots into someone at close range. What do you want to bet they'll find your sister's blood?" Coolly, she snaps her cuffs on her suspect, pronounces him under arrest, and mechanically recites his rights.

* * *

"You and Castle make quite a team," Johanna remarks, appearing at Kate's side as she splashes water on her face in the ladies' room. "Your dad and I used to complete each other's thoughts like that."

"Castle's not Dad."

Johanna smiles mischievously. "It would be pretty bizarre if he was."


	8. Chapter 8

Guardian Angel

Chapter 8

Kate looks up as a large Java Hut container descends to her desk. "I didn't expect you in this early, Castle. You had a pretty late night."

"Yours was at least as late as mine was," Rick points out.

"Yeah, but I'm on shift. They pay me to be here. And we nailed Harrison Tisdale. We don't just have his confession, which some lawyer might work very hard to suppress. C.S.U. found blood on his shoes and gunshot residue on his jacket. I justified the search based on what Nancy Squires told us, so Harrison's confession isn't our whole case. The lab will have to work harder than usual on matching the D.N.A. to Allison's. Since they have sibling markers in common, Harrison's D.N.A. will have to be excluded. But the techs should be able to verify it's hers in a day or two."

"Did the search team find the gun that killed her?"

"No. Harrison probably tossed it. He had a gun of the same caliber registered to him, so he probably knew the weapon could point to him. But he was too dumb to get rid of what he was wearing when he shot his sister."

"Or, from the way he haggled with Jonah over my books," Castle considers, "too cheap. Harrison isn't just penny-wise and pound-foolish; he's 24 carat stupid. No wonder his business was going to hell."

"He'll eventually join it there," Kate declares. "Thanks for the coffee, but I don't think there's anything else for you to do here, Castle."

"I don't know about that, Detective. I am a writer, and everything I learn while hanging with the N.Y.P.D. is fodder for my books. Now that Derrick Storm has fallen, I need a new character to replace him, and you're the perfect muse. I want to base my next book on you."

"Castle, you can't be serious. I don't jaunt all over the world working for an ultra-secret organization and defeating exotic villains. Most of what I do isn't that interesting. You've seen some of it: hours and hours of paperwork."

"You underestimate yourself, Detective. Your brilliance in the interrogation room lit up the place. You're not bad at Mad Libs either. And there is one case constantly eating at that hard-boiled exterior— your mother's murder. I have a fresh pair of eyes and a lot of resources. Maybe I can help you solve it."

"Captain Montgomery will never allow me to have a civilian chasing after me, Castle," Kate insists, as Johanna appears next to Rick, scowling. "And definitely not working on my mother's case."

"He has already agreed to it. I called him this morning before I came — right after I called the mayor. By the way, Weldon's literacy project is getting another big chunk of money from the Tisdale Foundation in memory of Allison. But anyway, Bob promised to work extra hard on loosening the restraints on the N.Y.P.D.'s budget, if I'm here goosing the department's ass. That brought Montgomery on board with bells on. So what do you say, Detective? For the good of your brethren in blue, are you willing to let me dog your footsteps?"

"Kate," Johanna warns, "don't be that little girl who refused a night light because she was too stubborn to admit she was afraid of the dark. Castle could be offering you just the help you need. All you have to do is accept it."

Kate stares at her mother for a moment and nods. "How can I say no, Castle? I'd be betraying the department. But I'm not picking up after you either, and I can't let you put yourself in the line of fire. I'm not about to leave Alexis without a father or your mother without a son."

"That last part isn't high on my list either, Detective. I'll try to stay out of the way of stray bullets. And I'm going to buy this place a new coffee machine and a subscription to Doughnuts of the Day."

"Make sure they bring the ones with powdered sugar, and Esposito will be grateful forever. He's the best shot here. His loyalty could come in handy."

Castle grins. "I'll keep that in mind, Detective. So what are you working on now?"

"I think that would be obvious to your discerning author's eyes, Castle. I'm serving the bureaucracy. Besides filling out a pile of forms, I have to write up everything about Allison Tisdale's murder and how we brought in her brother."

"Even about the Mad Libs?

"I think I can leave those out."

"Beckett, you know I'm good with a narrative. Maybe I can help," Castle offers.

"I think your prose might be a bit flamboyant for a police report."

"I can imitate a style. Writers have to do it all the time. Give me a few of your reports to absorb, and I guarantee Montgomery won't be able to tell us apart. I can at least write about what I was around to observe. Then when I'm your constant companion, I'll be able to help you with almost all of your drudgery."

Castle, are you trying to bribe me?"

"Actually, that's what the coffee was for," Rick confesses, "but are you tempted to give me a shot of whittling down your stacks of dead trees."

"Maybe. I'll give you some of my stuff to read. Show me what you can do."

"Wow! You want me to submit a writing sample. I haven't had to do that since my second, no, my third, bestseller. All right, Detective, you're on."

* * *

Kate stares at the empty expanse on her desk. "Castle, I can't believe we got through all of that. I have nothing left to do." She glances at her watch. "And my shift won't be up for another two hours."

"I can think of something," Castle suggests. "Get me a copy of your mother's case file. We can go over it together."

"I don't know, Castle." Kate looks questioningly at Johanna.

"Give it to him, Kate. Nothing there can hurt me anymore. And Baby, it can't hurt you either. It can only set you free."

Kate swallows, her eyes moist. She swipes the back of her hand across her face. "Everything the police have about my mother's case is in a box in the archives in the basement. We can go down there and go through it."

"Everything the police have?" Castle questions. "Do you mean there's more?"

"I have some of her papers and things at my apartment. I've looked through them a hundred times, but I didn't get anywhere. Mom had her own way of making notes. She said it was quicker, but Dad said it would also keep prosecutors from illegally digging into her work product. I've investigated different forms of shorthand and codes, but I've never been able to figure it out."

"It's worth another try," Castle insists.

"Go through the papers again, Kate," Johanna urges. "I'll tell you anything you need to know."

Kate turns to Castle. "Yeah, maybe it will be worth it, but I can't leave the precinct yet. We may as well go down to the basement. You might want to take your jacket. They only heat the place enough to make sure pipes don't break in the winter. It's another budget thing."

Castle grabs his sport coat from the back of his chair. "Maybe that's something else our efforts will fix, Detective. Lead the way."

Kate grabs a Mag-Lite from her desk drawer. "OK, Castle. Follow me."

"I might as well get in practice," Rick murmurs and trails Kate down a back stairway.


	9. Chapter 9

Guardian Angel

Chapter 9

Kate doesn't need her light to locate the box holding the evidence from Johanna's case. At this point, she could find it blindfolded. But it's reassuring to wrap her fingers around the solid cylinder as she leads Castle to the section of the archives they need. She wonders if Johanna, who is at her side, needs illumination either. Even if Kate's the only one who can see it, a glow surrounds her mother.

Hefting the box that Kate indicates, Rick too easily lifts and carries it to a table under a buzzing fluorescent fixture. The hum is annoying, but the paucity of evidence even more so. He flips open a file, wincing at a photograph of Johanna Beckett lying on filthy concrete surrounded by her own blood. She looks like Kate, or rather Kate looks like her mother, but please God, may he never see the detective like that.

Rick pulls out the autopsy report, quickly scanning the contents. "This is pretty cursory, isn't it Beckett? It doesn't even identify the type of weapon the killer used. There's no DNA or any speculation about the physical characteristics of the suspect. And the time of death is only limited to a four-hour span. I can't see much to go on, but there's an expert who consults for my books who might. I can give him a call."

Teeth digging into her lower lip, Kate hesitates.

"Tell him to do it," Johanna urges.

Kate clears her throat. "OK, Castle, you can call him when we get upstairs. There usually aren't any bars down here, and the department didn't put in any Wi-Fi extenders."

Castle gazes around at the utilitarian shelving and bare concrete floor. "I'm not surprised. All right, I want to go over everything that's here, meager as it may be. A metal folding chair scrapes against cement as he pulls the seat out from the table. At least there's someplace to sit."

"Uh-huh. Some of the guys brought the chairs so they could sneak down here to play cards at lunch."

Castle examines a lone piece of bagged trash from the alley where Johanna Beckett's body was discovered. "Figures."

* * *

Castle shoves his phone in his jacket pocket before securing his seat belt across his chest. "We're all set. Dr. Murray will meet us at my loft tonight." Rick starts the car. "So, where's your apartment, Beckett?"

"Tribecca."

"On a detective's salary, or did you win the lottery?"

"Neither. It belonged to my nonna. She bought it when the neighborhood was still affordable. When she passed away, she left it to me."

"Quite a gift."

"She gave me a lot more when she was alive. She was a tie to my mom. I miss her." For comfort, Kate unconsciously runs her fingers over the soft leather of the passenger seat of Castle's Mercedes before giving him her address.

Johanna's voice flows from the back of the car like a soothing balm. "Your nonna is fine, Kate. She just wants to make sure you'll be happy. We both do."

* * *

Sitting on the edge of Kate's couch, Rick carefully sorts through the contents of a crate. After pulling out a drugstore envelope of negatives and developed pictures, he studies a photograph of Kate near a Christmas tree, holding a pair of ice skates. He turns it toward Kate. Do you still skate?"

"Not really. I barely skated then. My mother loved to go to the rink, and she was giving me a gentle nudge to develop my skills."

"As if nudging you about anything ever worked," Johanna comments.

"What are you scowling over, Beckett?" Rick asks.

"My mother's case notes, I think. I still can't figure them out."

"Kate, I used a rotating substitution cipher," Johanna explains. "Pretty simple, really, but you'll need calendars. It goes through the alphabet, starting on the first letter of the day of the week on which the notations were written. They're all dated. The numbers at the top of the page are year, day, month. There were only five variations, so after a while, I had all the substitutions memorized. It's meant to confuse anyone trying to work with a large sample, but knowing the system, if you make a chart, it should be easy enough to decode."

"Castle," Kate asks, "can you bring up old calendars on your phone?"

"Of course, Beckett, what did you have in mind?"

"An idea just came to me. Damn! We really could use a whiteboard so that we can line up letters."

"We can try the table-making function in Word, if you have it on your computer," Castle suggests. "I don't use that option much, but Alexis does when she writes papers for her science classes. I have a little familiarity with it."

"My laptop's in my bedroom. I'll get it."

Castle quickly tamps down visions of Kate in her bedroom and locates a website that generates calendars.

* * *

"Castle, you're pretty good at this," Kate observes as Rick quickly translates pages of Johanna's notes.

"Sure. I think it might be a mystery writer thing. As a kid, long before anyone heard of Dan Brown, I was fascinated by codes. I used them to pass messages to my co-conspirators in boring classes, in case the teacher intercepted our communications. I also had my heroes and villains employ them in my stories. After a while, I got pretty quick. This is your mother's file about a drug operation in Washington Heights. It looks like she was spearheading an effort to keep dealers away from the kids."

"Her efforts could have pissed off some very nasty people." Kate realizes.

"There are a lot of details here: names, places, dates. It could take a long time to get through them. Dr. Murray will be at my loft in a couple of hours unless you want me to try to push him back."

Johanna shakes her head at Kate. "No. I want to know what the doctor finds."

"Don't do that, Castle," Kate implores. "Let's get as much as we can done before we meet with him, and we can get back to it again as soon as we get the chance."

"Whatever you say, Beckett," Castle agrees. "But, you know, I would love to see you on skates sometime."

"Believe me, Castle, you wouldn't, but I did love the hot chocolate my mom used to buy for us at the rink, especially the whipped cream."

Rick mentally files her confession away for future reference.

* * *

"I tried to get in touch with the medical examiner who performed the original post-mortem, but he passed on not long after he wrote the report. I could see some signs of neurological difficulties in his hand-written notations. That may be why his work was less than thorough," Clark Murray speculates.

"Detective Beckett, your mother's death was not random violence. Her killer wasn't a gang member unless the local gangs are sending their soldiers to special ops training. In essence, the murderer made a surgical strike, swift and silent. He plunged a blade into her kidney and twisted it. From the shape of the imprint, I'd suspect that he used a type of knife favored by Army Rangers. Death would have come very quickly. There are other, shallower, wounds, none of which would have been fatal. They were probably made in an attempt to disguise the expertise of the attacker. In my opinion. Johanna Beckett was killed by a professional, and as far as I know, no one with a matching M.O. has been caught."


	10. Chapter 10

Guardian Angel

Chapter 10

"Someone took out a hit on my mother?" Kate wonders.

"From what I see, that's a strong possibility," Murray replies gently.

"Which would bring us back to your mother's files," Castle points out. "Someone was mad enough to shell out to get rid of her."

"Or maybe not mad, scared," Kate speculates, glancing at Johanna. "Once my mother got her teeth into something, she never let it go. She could have put the drug dealers in Washington Heights out of business. Whoever was running them stood to lose a hell of a lot of money. Castle, we need to decode more of that file that's back at my place, tonight."

"And I should be on my way," Murray interjects. "I have to be in the lab early in the morning. Good luck, you two."

Castle ushers Murray to the door. "Thanks, Clark."

"I hope I gave you what you need, Rick," Murray replies as he shakes Rick's hand - and winks. "I'll invoice you."

Castle chuckles, clapping the doctor on the back. "I'd never doubt that for a second."

* * *

"There's one name that jumps out," Castle observes, as he and Kate pore over Johanna's documents. "Vulcan Simmons."

"We should talk to the cops who were in the area at the time," Kate decides. "I'll need to go through N.Y.P.D. records to figure out who that was."

"**We'll** need to go through N.Y.P.D. records," Rick corrects. "Your shadow, remember? But," he continues, fighting a yawn, "It's almost midnight. I should get going, and you should get some rest. I'll meet you at the 12th tomorrow. We've got good leads, Beckett. We're going to get the bastard."

"Castle, I'm starting to believe that."

* * *

Most of the lights are out in the loft when Castle lets himself in. Alexis has probably been in bed for an hour, and Mother may not be back from the theater. Another yawn overcomes him, but his mind is racing. He sheds his clothes and climbs into bed, hoping that sleep will come.

The barging of the sun through the drapes is an unwelcome but necessary intrusion that has Rick reaching for his watch. Six a.m. He must have managed two or three hours of slumber. He can remember being awake past three or so. At least when his brain finally slowed down, the dreams were good. Too good. He was no longer on the other side of the wall from Beckett's bedroom. Sighing, he drags himself from between the sheets. Dreams are dreams. If he grabs a wake-up shower, he'll have time to fix breakfast for Alexis before she goes off to school. He can even hit the Java Hut on the way to the 12th Precinct.

* * *

Kate's nose is 6 inches from her computer screen when Rick drops into his chair beside her desk. "Maybe you should try a larger font."

The detective shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "It wouldn't help. These records weren't digitized, just scanned and uploaded. I think the scanner was dirty or something. The text is barely legible. This is a report Montgomery wrote when he was a rookie."

"Can't you just ask him about it?" Rick asks.

"Uh-uh. He's at home. His kids have the flu, and his wife Evelyn is on a business trip to Silicon Valley. She's trying to get back, but even if she can, it will still take her until tonight."

"The three-hour time difference is a bitch," Castle comments, "but the responsibility to take temperatures and push fluids is as much his as it is hers anyway. He should be with his brood. I've always taken care of Alexis when she's been sick, and when we both come down with something, we take care of each other."

"What about your wife, um, wives?" Kate wonders.

"Meredith, my first wife, is Alexis' mother. She's never been the maternal type, and she always had to be on the road for one acting gig or another. My mother had to do that a lot when I was growing up, too. Anyway, I got full custody of Alexis when she was a baby. Gina, my second wife, was more than happy to take Alexis shopping. I don't think she ever gave up wanting to play Barbie. She loved buying things for a human doll. But she wasn't up for sickroom duty. Powerhouse modern woman that you are, I'd think you'd be all for a man taking on more caregiver responsibilities ."

"I am," Kate insists, "but I remember when I had my tonsils out, and my mom took time off from work to stay with me. We ate ice cream and watched the soaps. It's one of my happier memories."

Johanna smiles. "One of mine too. I loved spending time with you."

"Well, if you can't ask the captain about the report, you want me to take a run at deciphering it?" Rick offers.

"What?" Kate responds, her attention still on her mother. "Oh, yeah, sure. Take a crack at it. I need to use the ladies' room anyway."

Kate checks beneath the doors to the stalls before turning to her mother. "Did you ever meet Roy Montgomery?"

"I think I might have. I remember a serious young officer working with a Detective Raglan and a Detective McCallister in Washington Heights. He was African American, and as I recall, had a mustache. That was unusual in the department at the time. He seemed genuinely interested in getting the pushers off the street. Raglan and McCallister would go through the motions of arresting the dealers, but the scum were always bailed out faster than I could ever negotiate the release for one of my clients. Montgomery, or whoever the junior cop was, seemed frustrated by that. I thought I heard him murmur something about crooked lawyers, once. I suspected someone in the D.A.'s office was dirty myself, but I never had any proof. I believed that I might be on the verge of getting some when I … you know."

"Mom, did you tell anyone about your suspicions?"

"Only your father. I wanted to have something solid before I said anything to anyone else. But I was pushing hard in Washington Heights as well as for my clients' rights. Whoever it was might have wanted to get me out of the way before I convinced someone to blow the whistle. But I tried to get some cooperation out of a lot of people, Kate. You could end up following a bunch of trails to dead ends."

"Then I will, Mom. The answer has to be out there somewhere. Castle's probably got something by now. He reads faster than anyone I've ever met."

"I wish I'd had someone with that skill working for me. You're lucky to have him on your side, Kate."

"Yeah, maybe I am."

"Beckett!" Rick shouts as she's returning to her desk. "I think we may have something. Montgomery was writing about a Vulcan Simmons who he believed ran all the drug sellers in Washington Heights. He said the police kept bringing him in, but nothing ever stuck. Montgomery arrested several of Simmons' dealers, but they walked too. Simmons could easily have had the resources to send a contract killer after your mom. You think we can track him down?"

"We should talk to Ryan," Kate figures. "he worked for Narcotics and still has some contacts there. If Simmons is still active, those guys will know about it. He's not at his desk. Did you see where he went?"

"Break room. The first doughnut club delivery arrived and he and Esposito charged in there together."


	11. Chapter 11

Guardian Angel

Chapter 11

"Simmons is still active," Ryan reports, laying down his phone, "but he hasn't been picked up in years. He uses legitimate businesses for fronts, mostly car repair places where his dealers can get drive-in service. But there's enough chatter on the street to know that he's still holding the reins."

Kate's eyes flash with chips of emerald ice. "We can bring him in. He's a person of interest in a murder, and there's no statute of limitations on that. Did Narcotics have a location on his center of operations?"

"My old partner there thought Simmons might be at the Dents-Away body shop in Washington Heights. You want Espo and me to go get him?"

"No. Castle and I will go. I'll take a couple of marked units for backup."

* * *

Vulcan Simmons grins as Kate holds up her badge. "Long time since the police graced my establishment. Do you have a warrant, Detective Beckett? Anything you find here without one is fruit of the poison tree. I wouldn't want you to choke on it."

"I'm not here to search, Mr. Simmons," Kate informs him. "I'm here for you."

"I'd be flattered at the interest of such a fine looking woman," Simmons replies, "but my ladies get jealous."

"Mr. Simmons." Kate retorts, "I can assure you that the only interest I have in you is as a person of interest in a murder. Now, we can do this the easy way. You can come to the 12th Precinct with me and answer my questions, or I can have all the cops in the city develop an overwhelming urge to keep constant surveillance on every dealer on the street."

Castle waves a hand around the repair facility. "I doubt that the profits from this place paid for all the gold you're wearing, not to mention the brand-new Lincoln occupying your repair bay. Your revenue stream could be severely impeded."

"All right, Detective, I'll play along," Simmons agrees. "But we both know that if you had anything, you wouldn't just be asking."

* * *

Taking her seat across from Simmons in the interrogation room, Kate suppresses the urge to beat the smirk off his face. "Mr. Simmons, do you remember an anti-drug campaign called 'Take Back Our Neighborhood?'"

"I recall that," Simmons concedes. "A bunch of do-gooder ladies on safari in the hood. Someone should have warned them not to feed and tease the animals. Oh, Beckett! I remember that name. That bitch was leading her pack where they shouldn't have gone. She paid for that."

Kate's fingernails dig into her palms. "Johanna Beckett was my mother."

"Kate," Johanna warns, even as Rick puts a restraining hand on Kate's arm.

"Your Momma bled out in an alley with all the other garbage," Simmons sneers.

"Kate, no!" Johanna yells as Kate springs at Vulcan Simmons, knocking him into the one-way glass.

The mirror shatters, and Esposito charges into the room, with Ryan behind him. "Beckett, stand down!"

As Castle puts his hands on Kate's shoulders, Johanna slips between Kate and Simmons. "No more, Katie-girl. You're doing exactly what Simmons wants you to do. Any halfway competent lawyer can claim harassment and police brutality and get anything you have on Simmons thrown out."

"Take it easy, Kate," Castle whispers. "This sonofabitch isn't worth it."

Castle lets go of Kate as she backs off.

"Good girl," Johanna murmurs.

"Beckett, you should go home," Esposito urges. "We'll take care of Simmons."

"I can take her," Castle offers.

Kate stomps toward the door. "I can make it on my own."

Johanna wishes she could put her arms around her daughter, but there are some things a spirit can't do. Whether she knows it or not, Kate needs the warmth of a live human being.

* * *

Castle raises his fist to rap on Kate's door then lowers it to reexamine the bouquet in his other hand. He doesn't know how flowers will help, but he had the florist put in some purple ones. If nothing else, they'll go with Kate's taste in decor — if she even lets him in. She didn't seem to want to have much to do with him at the precinct, but what she went through is at least partially his fault. He needs to do something, and flowers are better than nothing. His knuckles meet the sturdy wood.

Without the click of heels on her hardwood floor, Rick barely hears Kate coming. When she opens the door, her feet are encased only in socks, her nose is red, and she's wearing baggy sweats. Damn! She looks beautiful, anyway. What are you doing here, Castle?"

"I thought, I mean, I thought you might want," he holds out the blooms.

"Take them, Kate," Johanna advises.

Kate reaches for the bouquet, burying her face in the petals as she inhales the fragrance. "Thank you, Castle. You want to come in?"

"Yeah, sure. All right."

Gathering up damp tissues, Kate waves Castle to the dry end of the couch. "I don't know why I lost it like that. I've had lots of suspects try to get under my skin. I never took the bait before. I blew it, Castle. When Montgomery comes back, he'll watch the video and won't let me get near Vulcan Simmons again. I'll be lucky if he lets me get near another case."

"Beckett, you don't have to worry about that right now. You've still got all your mother's records here. If you want to work on the case again, you can do it. We can do it."

"Work on what, Castle? Simmons was the best lead we had."

"Maybe not," Rick suggests. "Simmons implied that your mother was working with others. He called them her pack. Maybe one of them knows something."

Kate glances at her mother. "It's possible," Johanna acknowledges. "There's a listing of the whole group in my notes."

"All right, Castle," Kate agrees. "It's worth a try. I'm just going to put the flowers in water first. I don't want anything else to die."

"I'm going to dig through that crate again. After we started working on the cipher, I never did get to the bottom of it," Castle realizes.

"Fine," Kate calls as she turns on the faucet in the kitchen sink.

Castle carefully lifts out each item, laying everything he's examined before to the side. He smiles as he realizes that Johanna saved things Kate made as a child, just as he's done over years with Alexis' handiwork. Maybe Kate can smile over the collection another day. Perhaps he can smile with her.

A plain business envelope lies in the bottom of the crate, unaddressed and unopened. Rick holds it up. "Beckett, what's this?"

Kate glances questioningly toward her mother. "I think that's an envelope I found on my desk at my office the night I was going for another look at an alley a client told me about, and meet you and your father for dinner. Maybe the person who cleaned out my office threw it in with a bunch of other stuff," Johanna speculates. "It didn't feel like a letter. I thought someone might have left me one of those mini cassettes we used to take depositions. I was planning to listen to it later. You should listen to it."

"Open that, Castle," Kate instructs.

Rick carefully lifts the half-unstuck flap. "It's a little cassette tape, Beckett. With everything digital these days, we'll have to find a player somewhere, if you want to hear it. One of the electronics stores on Canal Street should have one. Do you want to check that out now, or find those names?"

Kate whispers to her mother, covering the sound by rinsing a vase. "Mom, do you remember the name of the client who told you about the alley?"

"His name was Pulgatti, Joe Pulgatti. But I don't think he had anything to do with Vulcan Simmons," Johanna replies. "He was an enforcer for the five families. "

Kate nods. "Castle, let's look for the names and anything else we can find that might connect to crime in Washington Heights."


	12. Chapter 12

Guardian Angel

Chapter 12

With Johanna looking over her shoulder, Kate pages through a file. Johanna points, "I think that's my membership roster."

"Castle," Kate calls, "I've got something that looks like a list of names here. Can you decode it?"

Rick flips open Kate's computer and hits a few keys. "That's what it is," he agrees, "your mother was quite a recruiter."

"She was a dynamic speaker," Kate recalls. "She didn't just capture the attention of juries. She drew people to her causes."

Johanna's mouth twitches a smile. "Thanks, Kate."

"Your mother wrote this all on one day, so I'll only need one matrix," Castle notes. "The decoding shouldn't take long."

"I can make some coffee," Kate suggests.

"Thanks, Beckett. I'd appreciate some, as long as you didn't pick up your brewing procedures at the 12th Precinct."

"No, coffee making is one thing Dad taught me. He's always liked his black, so there is no way to disguise crap."

Johanna nods. "That's true."

* * *

Castle looks up from his improvised workspace as Kate approaches with two mugs. "Perfect timing, Beckett. I just finished with the last name."

Kate hands him a hot brew. "You know, Castle, if you're going to spread papers all over my floor, you might as well call me Kate. You did at the precinct when things spun out of control."

"I was just trying to get your attention. But somehow, I think that calling you by your first name regularly in front of the boys, would not do much for your leadership standing. Ryan and Esposito are best friends, and they hardly use first names on the job," Castle notes. "It wouldn't sound right for your shadow to use yours."

"You may have a point," Kate concedes. "But Ryan and Esposito aren't here."

"You're right, Kate," Castle agrees. "Most of my friends call me Rick. In case you want to yell at me, it's a syllable faster than Castle."

An upturn teases the corners of Kate's mouth. "I'll remember that. Give me the list. I can make copies on my printer, so we'll both have one to work with."

Rick wiggles his eyebrows. "I sense a heavy-duty Google session coming."

* * *

Castle frowns at the screen of his phone. "Kate, I don't like where this is going. Out of five people in your mother's group that I've found bios on, two of them are dead, and neither from natural causes."

"One of mine is dead too," Kate reports sucking her bottom lip into her mouth.

Johanna looks on, her eyes dark with alarm. "I didn't know. I was watching you and your father, Kate, but I had no idea about the others. Could I have led them to their death?"

"No way my mother could have seen their deaths coming," Kate asserts. "But I wonder if the bastard behind her murder sent his killer after her colleagues too. The original M.E. wouldn't have crossed checked. He didn't even identify the weapon. Would Murray have looked for other killings with the same M.O.?"

"He said he hadn't heard of anyone being caught with that signature, but he wouldn't have checked for other cases except at my request. I can call and ask him to, as soon as we get the names of all the victims. And Kate, if we find a string of deaths tied to your mother's murderer, could you go to Montgomery about tracking down a serial killer?"

"Maybe," Kate allows. "Breaking a case like that would look great for the department."

"And earn you some forgiveness for your slip with Simmons?" Rick wonders.

Kate holds up crossed fingers. "I hope so."

* * *

"That's it," Castle declares, putting down his phone and flexing his hands. "I sent Murray the names, and he said he'd get on them ASAP. How about this?" he asks, his finger tapping the envelope holding the cassette tape. "You want to go hunting for a vintage cassette player?"

"I would really like to know what's on that tape," Kate admits.

Johanna nods enthusiastically. "So would I."

* * *

Castle stares at the sign reading "Estate sales welcomed," in the window of Rocco's Electronic Emporium and Antiquities. "If anywhere has one of those old players, it's probably this place. Do you believe that Commodore 64 computer? When that thing came out in the eighties, I wanted one so much. I thought it was even cooler than comic books."

"Did you get one?" Kate asks.

"No. That was one of the periods when Mother claimed she was paying her dues, which meant living in a tiny apartment and taking any job she could find that would still allow her to go to auditions. I think she had to stretch the budget just to buy me a Superman and Spiderman crossover treasury edition for Christmas. I didn't get a computer until I sold 'In a Hail of Bullets.' By then, I was handwriting all my stories in composition books anyway. I still did that for a long time afterward."

"Wow, I always pictured you at a keyboard."

"That's how I write now, but I still make a bunch of notes by hand, especially when I'm researching at the library. Force of habit, I guess. Alexis is more computer savvy than I am. She grew up that way. But I digress. Let's go in and find the player we need for your mom's tape."

Rocco studies the cassette. "Sure, I have machines that will play that. There's a whole shelf of them in the back corner. You'll need to buy some batteries first, to make sure that they run."

"Kate rolls her eyes, reaching into her purse. "Of course."

Castle points to the cleanest looking of the players Rocco has on display. "That one looks the least likely to eat your tape. I hope it takes double A's."

Kate picks up the recorder and slides back the cover of the battery compartment. "Yeah, it does. Can you put them in while I get the tape back out?"

"Of course."

"I'm just going to play enough to make sure the thing works," Kate decides. "Who knows what's on it?"

"You're going to want to be careful anyway," Castle agrees. "Those old tapes can catch and tear. " He pushes the button to open the tape compartment, and Kate loads the cassette."

"I want out!" comes a voice Kate doesn't recognize.

Kate quickly pushes the stop button. "That's enough. We need to listen to this someplace private." Kate holds up the player as they return to Rocco at the register. "How much?"

"That's a great unit," Rocco claims. "Top of the line. Three hundred bucks."

As Kate winces, Castle pulls out his wallet. "Don't worry about it, Kate. I've got it."

* * *

Taking a seat on her couch with the player between her and Castle, Kate rewinds to the beginning of the recording. "I want out!"

"The only way you get out is feet first," a second voice insists. "I know people, dangerous people, who'll send you straight to hell without a second thought. You play the game, or you retire permanently."

"I'll let everyone know who you are and what you are doing," the first voice threatens.

"Then you'd have to tell them what you've been doing, and you know what happens to dirty cops in prison? You've got a good thing going. You want to keep your job, your pension, your bank account? Keep your f****ing mouth shut."

"Who were those guys?" Castle wonders as Kate looks at her mother."

"I don't know who the cop was," Johanna explains, "but I recognize the other voice. He was the D.A. at the time, William Bracken."

"Montgomery was on the streets back then, wasn't he?" Castle asks. "maybe he'll recognize the cop's voice. "

Kate shakes off Johanna's revelation. "The captain should be back tomorrow. We can give it a shot."


	13. Chapter 13

Guardian Angel

Chapter 13

Rick pushes up from his spot on Kate's couch. That's probably all we can do tonight. I should be getting home. I want to check on Alexis."

"Yeah, sure." Kate agrees. "Take care of your family. See you at the 12th tomorrow?"

"You want me to back you up while you beard the lion in his den?"

"It wouldn't hurt to have the mayor's golden boy behind me when I try."

"The mayor's golden boy," Castle repeats. "All right, Detective, consider the political advantage on your side. See you in the morning."

"That was pretty stupid, Kate," Johanna remarks after the door closes behind Rick.

"What was stupid, Mom?" Kate queries.

Johanna shakes her head. "How can my brilliant daughter be so clueless? That man is sticking his neck out to support you, and the only reason you can give for wanting him around is clout with the mayor? Come on, Kate. I've seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. And casual acquaintances don't just show up at your door with flowers or shell out $300 for a tape player. The mayor has nothing to do with the feelings of either one of you. Why not admit that you like Rick and accept that he wants to be more than your shadow?"

Kate strides away from Johanna. "Mom, I'm not ready for that yet, with Castle or anyone."

"Kate, when I died, you built a moat around yourself and pulled up the drawbridge. If you don't let it down again, you're going to emotionally starve. It looks to me like Rick's on his charger ready to gallop across. You could at least meet him halfway."

Making a circuit of the room, Kate chews on the tip of her finger. "I don't know if I can, Mom."

"Katie-girl, I've never known my daughter to walk away from a challenge. You and Rick will be double-teaming Montgomery tomorrow. Leave yourself open to whatever comes next."

* * *

Roy Montgomery settles back in his desk chair. He's not sure he'd ever admit it, but being at work is easier than being at home and dealing with the demands of three sick children. At least the cops know who's supposed to be in charge. Well, most of them do. Before the sudden silence that gripped the break room, he heard a few murmurs about Beckett. Coffee from the fancy machine that miraculously appeared and a fresh cruller, haven't lulled his anxiety about the whispered comments. He cues up the video from yesterday's interrogation. He'll watch it, but he's pretty sure he won't like it.

"Beckett!" Montgomery calls from the doorway of his office. "A word." Roy holds up his hand as Rick follows Kate. "This has nothing to do with you, Castle."

"With all due respect, Captain, it does," Rick protests. "I've been with Detective Beckett every step of the way in her investigation. If nothing else, I can lend some context to what she's been doing — and wants to do."

"Context, huh! We'll see. OK, Castle, you can come along, but don't interfere. And close the door behind you. Now, Beckett, why the hell did you bring in Vulcan Simmons?"

Kate clasps her hands behind her back. "That's a long story, Sir."

"Give me the short version."

"His name was in an old report, and I had reason to believe that he was involved with my mother's murder. He may have even hired the man who killed her."

Montgomery shakes his head. "Wait! Not only were you investigating a case that's so cold it has frostbite, but you've come up with some imaginary hitman?"

"With all due respect, Sir," Castle jumps in, "Detective Beckett isn't imagining anything. We have some strong forensic evidence that Johanna Beckett was not a random killing. And early this morning, we received information that the same killer is implicated in the deaths of several victims associated with Johanna Beckett. There's a trail of bodies, Sir, and Detective Beckett's investigation is the key to uncovering who left it."

"I want to see that evidence, all of it," Montgomery demands.

"Of course, Sir," Kate agrees, "but there's part of it you may be able to help us with. It's a long-shot, but I need you to see if you can identify voices on a tape."

"You never stop pushing, do you, Detective?"

"No, Sir. Not if I can help it."

"Fine," Montgomery agrees. "I'll look over what you have and listen to your tape. But even for the best evidence in the world, I can't have you beating up on suspects. The N.Y.P.D. has more than enough community relations problems without inviting excessive force suits. There will be consequences."

"Whatever they are, you can handle them, Kate," Johanna reassures her daughter.

Kate meets Montgomery's gaze. "Yes, sir, I understand."

* * *

Rick and Kate crowd around Montgomery's desk as he listens to the scratchy sound of the old tape. "I recognize both voices," Montgomery realizes. "The cop is Gary McCallister. I knew him in the day. He hung with John Raglan."

"Raglan was the detective on my mother's case!" Kate exclaims.

"I know," Montgomery acknowledges. "The other voice is Bill Bracken. I couldn't miss that one. He painted himself as the crime-battling D.A. He was on T.V. all the time, and eventually ran for Congress. He's a senator now, the scum that floats on the top of the water. I never trusted him. He was always cutting loose the drug dealers we all knew worked for Vulcan Simmons. But all of that is way past the statute of limitations unless you can tie it to murder. Are you saying that you can link Simmons and Bracken to one?"

"Possibly more than one, Sir, if you're willing to let me try."

"Hell, yes! I'll let you try, Beckett. I've been wanting to see Bracken take the fall for more years than I care to admit. Simmons too. But you better have everything tied down so tight a hurricane can't blow it loose because Bracken can bring one hell of a storm."

"Yes, Sir," Kate promises.

"Good girl," Johanna declares.

Castle clears his throat. "Captain, what about Beckett's, uh, consequences?"

"One week unpaid administrative leave and a letter of reprimand. The leave is mandatory, but I'll put the letter in a drawer. If you prove Vulcan Simmons is connected with a murder, I'll tear it up. I'll need you to get out of here now, Beckett, but somehow I believe you can find something productive to do with the next seven days. Castle, while Beckett's gone, you're gone too. But I take it the doughnuts, and that fancy coffee maker will stay."

"Of course, Sir," Castle assures him. "I would never fail to support the N.Y.P.D.'s cravings for sugar or caffeine."

Montgomery nods. "Glad to hear it."

* * *

Dick Coonan brings up his dark web Rathborne site and examines his messages. A job from Bracken tops the list. He hasn't had one of those for a while, but he's always enjoyed both the kills and the money. He studies the attached photograph of his assignment, Detective Katherine Beckett. She reminds him of another Beckett. Mother and daughter? Maybe. It doesn't really matter. Her flesh will be firm, perfect for taking the knife. He might even run his hands over her breasts as she dies. Dick, aka Rathborne, accepts the commission and rubs his hands together. It's time to start stalking his prey.


	14. Chapter 14

Guardian Angel

Chapter 14

"What's the plan?" Castle asks, opening the passenger side door of his car for Kate.

"What plan, Castle?" she queries.

"I mean, do we track down that cop, Gary McCallister, or do you have a better place to start?"

"We don't have access to N.Y.P.D. records," Kate protests. "We don't even know if McCallister is alive or not."

"We're not really going to let that stop us, are we?" Castle presses. "Even Montgomery didn't expect you to stop working on the case. He made that pretty clear."

"He did, Kate," Johanna interjects.

"Look, if it's a matter of a missing paycheck, I can help you out," Castle offers.

"I can manage, Castle." Kate returns, more sharply than she intended.

"Kate," Johanna rebukes.

Kate lays her hand on Castle's arm. "Sorry, Rick. You're very sweet to try to help. I'm just frustrated at being cut off from my official resources."

"You don't have to be a cop to have resources," Castle points out. "I've been researching a character for my new book — not the one based on you, an investigative reporter. There are all sorts of ways that journalists dig things up, all kinds of public records, and in many cases, just calling and asking."

"But for the next week, I can't ask as a cop." Kate laments.

"I can ask as an author," Rick asserts. "I've been doing it for years. I even got info out of the CIA. I wouldn't have been able to write some of the Storms without it. And there are all kinds of subscription search services. They don't care who you are as long as your credit card is good, and I've already enrolled in the ones my book's character would use. We can run anyone you want. So, how about Gary McAllister or perhaps that cop who worked on your mother's murder?"

"Raglan, John Raglan," Kate fills in.

"Right, Raglan. Where do we go with this, Kate?"

"We could try starting with Raglan," Kate suggests. "There has to be a reason why he was so willing to drop the ball on my mother's murder."

"OK," Rick agrees. "I already have my sign-ins programmed into my computer at the loft. You all right with going there?"

Kate shrugs. "I guess. Your daughter's in school, right?"

"Right," Castle confirms, "all through the day's classes and French club afterward. She'll be home at dinner time unless she goes out for pizza with her friends. Then she'll make it home for dessert. She has the inexhaustible teenage capacity to inhale food."

Kate hears her mother chuckle. "I remember you as a teenager, Kate. I think you could have out-eaten the Incredible Hulk."

"I'm sure Alexis works it off, Castle." Kate offers, trying to ignore Johanna.

"She does," Castle agrees. "I wish I had her energy."

Kate shrugs again as they approach a red light. "From what I've observed, you may come pretty close."

Rick smiles in her direction. "Why Beckett, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

* * *

"Sorry, not much on Raglan so far, but I found a bio on McCallister," Castle announces as Kate returns to his office with fresh coffee. "He's a baseball fan and a long-standing member of a Yankee boosters club. It featured him in an online newsletter."

Setting down the mugs she's carrying, Kate looks over Rick's shoulder. "My father is a member of this club. He's a huge baseball fan. When I was growing up, he took me to games all the time. After my mother and me and the law, it's always been his passion. It might even be a step ahead of the law. He may know McCallister. We could go talk to him."

"You want me to sit down with your father?" Castle asks with an involuntary shudder.

"What's the matter, Castle? You look terrified."

Maybe it's because I had no practice with one of my own, but I've had unfortunate experiences with fathers. There was this prom night…"

"Castle, we're working together, not dating."

Unheeded, Johanna sighs.

"But," Kate continues, "there's a diner where Dad and I like to meet for lunch. Neutral ground. We could go there."

Castle nervously taps a pen on his desk. "OK."

* * *

Attracted by a familiar sound, Rick's eyes flit to a machine behind the counter at Babe's Diner. "They make real milkshakes here."

Kate's tongue sweeps over her lips. "They do chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. They make malts too. It's one of the things I like about this place, That and the dill pickles. They serve those big fat ones I can't wait to get my mouth around."

Castle gulps at the unbidden image in his mind. "Um, how are the cheeseburgers?"

"Pretty good. Oh, my dad is already here." Kate waves at a man sitting in a booth.

"He doesn't look particularly intimidating," Castle silently muses, "but then those are the ones you have to watch."

Kate slides onto a red vinyl upholstered bench, leaving Castle plenty of room next to her. "Dad, this is Richard Castle. Rick, my father, Jim Beckett."

Castle stretches his arm across the Formica-topped table. "Nice to meet you, Sir."

Jim nods as they shake hands. "Yes. I recognize you from the picture on your book jackets." Jim signals to a waitress. "We're ready now, Corine."

As soon as Corine departs with their order, Jim turns to his daughter. "What's going on, Katie?'

"Dad, a cop named Gary McAllister, came up in my investigation of Mom's murder. He's a member of your baseball club. I was wondering if you know him."

Jim grabs for his water glass, taking a shaky swallow. "I do. I've known him for years. But I had no idea he had anything to do with your mother's death."

"He may not have, Dad, but we uncovered a connection to John Raglan. Remember him?"

Jim takes another sip of his water. "Of course I do. How could I ever forget the man who told me my wife had been murdered? What do you want to know, Katie?"

Anything you can tell me about McCallister. Was there something you wouldn't expect of a cop? Did he bring anyone with him to meetings or games?"

Jim's eyes drift leftward as he searches his memory. "I don't recall Gary bringing anyone with him, but there is one thing. He has a baseball card collection. He started collecting when he was young, like most of us did, but he kept at it as an adult. He brought his prize acquisition to a meeting not long before Johanna was killed. It was a multiple error rookie card for Ken Griffey Jr., worth almost 20K. I remember wondering at the time how he could afford it on a cop's salary."

Kate nods. "That may fit in with what we know. Anything else, Dad?"

"He didn't talk to me much. After your mother died, he kind of turned away. A lot of people did that. They weren't sure what to say, so they backed off."

"That happened to me too," Kate shares.

"But McCallister still stays away from me," Jim adds, "and he never looks me in the eye. Maybe that makes sense now. Are you going to question him? He hasn't been around that much since he retired, but last I heard, he was living in the Bronx. I guess he still likes to be near the stadium."

"Thanks, Dad. That helps."

"Just be careful, Katie," Jim urges, reaching for Kate's hand. "I couldn't bear to lose you too."

"I will, Dad," Kate promises.


	15. Chapter 15

Guardian Angel

Chapter 15

"I found an address for a Gary McCallister in the Bronx!" Rick exclaims, pointing at the screen of his phone as he rests it against his steering wheel. "It's in the Concourse area, pretty close to the new Yankee Stadium. He should be the right one. Ready to work your Beckett magic?"

"It's not magic Castle, it's acquired skill, and a lot of what I do depends on having a badge. I'm not sure how to pull off questioning him without one."

Rick nods thoughtfully. "Well, if you don't go at him as a cop, how about if I enlist him as a consultant?"

"How do you explain picking him?"

"I say I'm writing a book about the murder of a baseball player. You and I talked to your dad as a superfan, and he referred us to McCallister as a superfan/cop. That also will explain why we'll be talking to him together."

"Are you really planning on writing about the murder of a baseball player?" Kate queries.

"I might eventually. Athletes have a mystique that can pull in readers. But if I do, I'll need your help, and maybe your father's too. What I know about baseball is limited to overheard snatches of conversation when my mother was dating a player once. And that was mostly about a short run Mother did with a road company as Lola in Damn Yankees. But whether I write the story or not, researching it would be a way to get McCallister talking. I've noticed that once people get started, all sorts of things can slip out."

"And we might pick up some information from what's in his apartment, too," Kate considers.

"The address doesn't list an apartment number. McCallister might have a house."

Kate unconsciously rakes her hair back. "That area used to be pretty cheap, but prices have been going up. I don't think a retired cop could afford one."

"Maybe he financed it the same way he got the money for that baseball card, Kate," Rick suggests. "The man was dirty, and Bracken wouldn't let him get clean. We can find out more after we see the place. If I sneak a few pictures, I can send them to the designer who did my beach house. She knows the price of almost every stick of furniture ever made - carpets and window treatments too. She could probably crush it on 'The Price is Right.'"

"That kind of information might be useful," Kate acknowledges. "Wait, you have a beach house?"

"Uh-huh. When Alexis was younger, I thought she should have a place to run around. I used to take her to the park almost every day when she was little, but it's not the same as being able to dig your toes into the sand or play Marco Polo in a pool. So I bought a house in the Hamptons. The place has a great view. On the Fourth of July, we get to watch the fireworks over the ocean. I barbecue, too. It's nice."

"It sounds wonderful. I like to spend time by the water too," Kate confides. "My dad has a cabin upstate by a lake. It's just a little place, but we can go walking and fish. Sometimes I go there to recharge a little."

"I know what you mean about recharging. I like the city, especially the people-watching. I can make up enough stories about the characters I see to fill hundreds of books. But with human beings jammed that close together, everyone puts up protective walls. The rules are unofficial, but everyone knows them. When you're in an elevator, you keep your eyes forward and pull in tight to avoid touching anyone—same thing on a crowded subway. And if someone is breaking the code, the feeling of fear is palpable. You know what I mean?" Castle wonders.

"I never thought of it in those terms, but I think I understand," Kate allows. "You're talking about the danger of crowds. It doesn't take much to set off mob behavior."

"Or misbehavior. Not that it doesn't happen where there's more living space. But the Hamptons are hardly hotbeds of crime. You know, you should come out with me sometime, when we're not neck-deep in a murder investigation, I mean. Relax a little."

"I'll think about it, Castle."

"You should do more than think about it," Johanna advises.

* * *

After inviting Rick and Kate to take seats on the couch, McCallister sinks into a leather chair. "Tell your father I send my regards, Ms. Beckett."

"Kate," Beckett urges, "and I will."

"I'm Rick," Castle adds.

"A book about an investigation of a murdered baseball player, huh? That could be interesting," McCallister judges. "I'm sure there are a few players their wives would like to take out, just for their adventures on the road, if you know what I mean. Most of them don't exactly want for female attention."

"I get it," Castle assures the suspect cop. "I'm not about to hit one out of the park, but as an author, I have my share of groupies. But I want to craft a tale about more than a jealousy killing. How about involvement in some scheme where a city official makes money off the game? Money and power are always great backdrops for a story."

"I could see bribing a player to blow a turn at bat or something. A gambling syndicate could clean up. But a crooked city official?" McCallister's knuckles whiten as his hands curl tightly around the arms of his chair. "I never had anything to do with crooked officials as a cop. What do you mean?"

Castle shrugs. "I don't know, but here's a scenario off the top of my head. Suppose a team wanted a new stadium. One of the players fronts for the owners, wining and dining the mayor and the city council and greasing palms to snag a prime location. A lawyer working on the deal gets suspicious. She's a beautiful but dogged woman who won't back down and could screw up the whole deal. But the baseball player falls for her, and they both get taken out. His death garners so much publicity that the cops don't pay much attention to hers - except for one detective who was also in love with her. He uses every spare minute he has to investigate her murder. That cop not only finds the killer, but uncovers the whole dirty mess, and exposes the official who ordered the hits." Castle grins. "But I'm just fooling around here, the plot could be anything," he adds, regarding the noticeable blanching of McCallister's face. "Oh, listen, could I use your bathroom? I had way too much coffee at lunch."

McCallister wets his suddenly dry lips and points. "Yeah, sure. There's one down the hall and around the corner."

Castle fingers the phone in his pocket. Perfect. He'll be out of sight. "I appreciate it. I'm always thinking I should cut down on caffeine. You and Kate can talk baseball while I wash up. I get the impression that she learned the game at her daddy's knee."

Rick takes as many pictures as he can while unseen by McCallister, before deciding to actually use the facilities. He really should drink less coffee."

* * *

It wasn't difficult for Dick Coonan to locate Kate Beckett's apartment. Any of the programs available for $39.95 could have done it, but they would also have provided false trails to waste his time. The search engine he had a black hatter build for him was much more precise. He considers planting explosives, but making a kill in person is much more satisfying. It will be easy to bug Beckett's place, so he'll always know when she's there. After he has a handle on her comings and goings, he'll be ready to have some very lucrative amusements.


	16. Chapter 16

Guardian Angel

Chapter 16

"Ah, that's better," Rick sighs, dropping back down next to Kate on McCallister's couch. "While I was gone, I was thinking. How would the cop who's obsessed with the baseball murder interact with the other cops? What would happen if he had a partner who wasn't on board? How long were you on the job, McCallister?"

"Thirty years."

"And did you have a partner you were close to, who might have disagreed with you at some point?" Castle queries.

"Yeah, Raglan, John Raglan. And we had our beefs."

"Was there a big one?" Castle presses.

McCallister's chair creaks slightly under the shifting of his body. "I suppose you might say that. We were in an organization, sort of. I didn't like what the head guy was doing and wanted to leave. John didn't. But we got past it. We're still in touch. We go to games together sometimes, or we did."

"Why did? What happened?" Kate asks as casually as she can.

"Raglan's got health problems. Pretty bad, I guess. I should call him soon."

"So, McCallister, partners would stay close, but you don't think a high official would be involved in putting out a contract on a lady lawyer?" Castle sums up, interrupting the ex-cop's reverie.

McCallister's foot jitters against the floor. "I said I never knew about anything like that."

"OK," Castle acquiesces, "I suppose I'll have to think of another plotline. What would you think about someone importing counterfeit baseballs that dip or swerve or something when pitched? Wouldn't that completely throw off the stats?"

"What?" McCallister stares numbly at Rick. "Oh, yeah, I guess it might. Um, could you two excuse me now? I really need to call John."

"Partner's instinct. Right," Castle agrees. "Of course. We'll leave you to it. I really appreciate your help, Mr. McCallister."

"Thank you for your time," Kate adds, as McCallister ushers them to the door.

Castle slaps his palm against the hood of his car in McCallister's driveway. "Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned the murder of a lady lawyer? He looked like he was going to hurl. He knows what happened, Kate, and he knows who was behind it."

"But how do we get him to tell us, Castle?"

"He won't, but he might talk about it with Raglan."

"Castle, you didn't bug McCallister's house, did you?"

"If I'd thought about it in time, it would have been fun to try, but we might be able to bug Raglan."

"Castle, cops can't just bug someone, we need a court order."

"I'm not a cop, Kate. And for this week, neither are you. From what McCallister said, Raglan's sick, right? Maybe very sick. So we're nice. We send him a plant to cheer his day. And we put an extra gift in it."

Kate shakes her head. "I'm almost afraid to ask, Castle, where are you going to get a bug?"

"I know a guy, another consultant on my Storm books. Remember I told you I picked up some stuff from the CIA? I know a few things about how surveillance works, more than I put in my books, at least so far. We'll be able to pick up Raglan's side of the conversation as he talks to McCallister on the phone. If McCallister gets it in mind to visit his old friend, we'll hear the whole thing. But we better hurry."

"Castle, I don't know."

"Get on the stick, Kate," Johanna urges. "If you miss this chance, only The Father knows if you'll get another one, and he's not telling me."

"All right, Castle," Kate agrees, "let's get your bug."

* * *

Izzy Seymour hits the last keystroke on his computer. "OK, Rick, I programmed your bug to send its feed to your phone. It's sound-activated, so it will only send when there's something to hear. If your target is watching TV or listening to music, you'll hear that too, but that's the best I can do. I hope it helps you catch your killer, Kate."

"I hope so too, Izzy."

"How long is the bug good for?" Castle asks.

"The battery is photo rechargeable like a calculator. As long as the guy you're listening in on turns on a light now and then, you shouldn't run out of juice. If you're hiding it in a plant, don't bury it in the dirt or stick it on the bottom of the pot."

"Nothing like a challenge," Castle quips. "Thanks, Izzy, we'll figure it out."

* * *

Kate studies the array of plants at Flowerpalooza. "Hey, Castle, look at the leaves on this one. Our little gift would blend right in with the markings. We could stick it on the top leaf, and Raglan would never know the difference."

"Kate, that's brilliant! Let's get it on there, and I'll have this thing sent off to the address we found for Raglan. I've used the delivery service before, for emergency apologies. With enough of an upcharge, our leafy friend here can find its new home within a couple of hours."

"All right, but then I want to do something for you for a change."

Rick's eyebrows rise. "Really?"

"Sure. Once the plant's on its way, we should go to my apartment. I'll make lunch. I have a great recipe for meat sauce. Actually, I have great recipes for a lot of things. My Nonna left them to me with the apartment. I just don't get much chance to use them."

Castle pulls in a deep breath as he banishes visions of more strenuous activities from his mind. "Sure. We can't have your Nonna's legacy going to waste, can we? I would love to try your rendition of her meat sauce or any of her other creations you wish to share."

* * *

Castle's cellphone lets out a shriek as he follows Kate into her apartment. "What the hell?"

"What the hell?" the phone echoes.

"What's going on, Castle?" Kate asks as the sound continues to assault their ears.

Rick quickly thumbs down the volume to a bearable level and whispers. "Wow, it's like feedback or something that happens when you get a mike too close to a speaker — or a receiver too close to a bug. Kate, I think while we were on our mission, someone was bugging you. Count or sing or something. I'm going to try to track it."

Kate begins to belt out Sinatra's "New York, New York," as Rick uses his phone to scan for the source of the feedback.

"Kate, I found it!" Castle points to a tiny device almost invisible in the corner of a windowpane.

Using her fingernail, Kate scrapes it free and presses the tip of her finger to her lips. Pulling the ever-present notepad and pen from Rick's pocket, she writes, "Don't say anything! I want to take it to CSU, so they can figure out where it came from. They won't know I'm on suspension."

Castle nods silently and points toward the door. Keeping his lips pressed together, Rick drives the short distance to the CSU lab, where Kate explains in a note to the chief criminalist what happened.

Rick exhales as he and Kate leave CSU. "Now what?"

"Now, hopefully, the techs can trace that bug and give us a clue to who planted it. But I still owe you a lunch. And we should be able to listen in on Raglan soon. Feel like going back to my apartment?"

"Can't think of any place I'd rather be."


	17. Chapter 17

Guardian Angel

Chapter 17

"Don't go too heavy on the garlic," Johanna advises as Kate adjusts the seasoning in her sauce. "You and Rick might need to put your heads together."

"Mom," Kate hisses.

Castle looks up from checking the newsfeed on his phone while waiting for a signal from the Raglan bug. "Did you say something about your mom?"

"No, I was just thinking she would have liked making Nonna's recipes. She loved to cook when she had time, which wasn't often during the week. But Sundays, she would make incredible brunches. Dad and I had our choice of pancakes, waffles, or omelets."

"That's because I gave your father a chance to work up an appetite." Johanna teases.

Reddening, Kate stirs in an extra sprinkle of oregano. "This is going to be done soon. I'm going to boil the linguine. Any peeps from Raglan?"

"Not yet. Oh, wait! A guy is shouting! It's a sports announcer. Raglan must have turned on a baseball game. Someone just scored a triple."

"Must be preseason," Kate comments absently. "Raglan probably gets it on cable or something. McCallister might call during the seventh-inning stretch. We'll have to stay alert."

* * *

Sighing, Rick twirls his pasta against the side of his bowl. "This is excellent, Kate. Your Nonna may be feeding the angels, but I'm sure you added your special touch."

"She has set a table for the Host a couple of times," Johanna remarks.

Kate spears a black olive in her salad. "I didn't have to change much of anything, Castle. Nonna never **quit **working on her recipes."

"I get the message," Johanna acknowledges. "You kids enjoy."

"Castle," Kate queries, "There's something I've been wondering."

"Detective Beckett, I'm an open book. Sooner or later, you'd drag anything you want to know out of me anyway. It is your special gift."

"You're pretty good at extracting information yourself, Castle, but what I was wondering is why you killed off Derrick Storm?"

Rick lays down his fork and dabs at his mouth with a paper napkin. "Wow! I'm not sure I can explain how it works, but even if I outlined my books, I was never sure what my characters would do until it came out the ends of my fingers. And I loved the surprises. Having Derrick learn Clara Strike was still alive was one of those. I teared up when the words appeared on my screen. But the Storms got to the point where I always knew what Derrick would say, what he'd do. It was like I was transcribing a story, not writing one. There were no surprises anymore. And I figured there might not be many for my readers either. So I killed off my hero, the ultimate surprise."

Kate takes a sip from a bottle of water. "More like the ultimate shock."

"That is a more accurate descriptor," Rick admits. "But I think Nikki Heat is going to be a more interesting protagonist."

"Who?"

"Nikki Heat, the character based on you."

"I thought she was supposed to be a cop. She sounds more like a stripper."

"She is not now, nor has she ever been a stripper. I think CSI in Vegas had the conversion of a stripper to a crimefighter pretty well covered. Nikki is short for Nikita, from the Russian side of her family. I can think of all sorts of ways to use that. Her surname is a device, like calling my previous hero, Storm. Heat is short and pithy and can pair with numerous evocative adjectives. My tentative title for the first book is 'Heat Wave.' Conjures up all kinds of images, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I like them."

"Kate, trust me," Rick implores. "You'll like Nikki. She's caring, smart, gorgeous, and implacably stubborn."

Rick's phone emits a ring tone he doesn't recognize. "Kate, I think that's Raglan getting a call. He's picking up."

A hangdog voice crackles through the speaker. "Gary?"

"McCallister is calling Raglan!" Castle mouths.

Kate holds up her hand and shakes her head to quiet him. "Yeah, I'm watching the game," presumed Raglan continues. "Not as bad as when you called earlier. The stronger stuff the doc gave me is kicking in. Who asked you about a dead lawyer? A writer who was with a Kate Beckett? "Sh*t! That's the daughter. I remember her. No. I'm not going to say anything to him. Whatever happens to me now doesn't matter much anyway. But watch your ass, partner. He has ears everywhere and doesn't like loose ends. He may have already sent someone to take the daughter out, maybe you too. Yeah, it might be a good idea to get out of town, as far as you can get. Good luck, Mac."

Rick reaches across the table for Kate's hand. "A killer could have planted the bug we found here. We need to get you out."

Kate reaches for her cell. "I'll call the precinct. Montgomery will send a protective detail."

"You heard Raglan, at least I assume that was Raglan."

"It was," Kate confirms. "I remember his voice from when he told Dad and me that my mom was dead."

"He said whoever is pulling the strings has ears everywhere," Castle recounts. "He could have a mole at the 12th. Hell, he could have a mole anywhere in the department. Let me take you somewhere, Kate, somewhere safe."

"Listen to him, Katie," Johanna begs, popping back into Kate's view. "You could have a great life ahead of you. You deserve to live it. And you saw what my death did to your father. Losing you too could destroy him. You're not any more invulnerable than I was. For once, don't be stubborn. Just go!"

Kate stares at the determined spirit for a moment before meeting Castle's gaze. "All right, I just need to grab some things, clothes, stuff from the bathroom."

"OK, Kate, just hurry." Rick grudgingly agrees. "If that bug belongs to the killer, he already knows we found it. He knows where you live, Kate. Who knows what else he knows or how long before he comes after you? And you had to surrender your weapon."

"I have a backup piece, Castle. I'll take that with me, too."

* * *

Kate stares in disbelief at an opulent lobby. "The Golden Bowl? Castle, are you kidding me?"

"No, Kate, it's perfect. Some of the celebrities Mother knows, stay here whenever they're in town. I've hidden out in one of the suites a couple of times myself. There's a VIP floor. No one can even make the elevator stop on it without a key or a pass. The hotel rents the rooms up there under aliases. No one will know it's you. You can order 24/7 room service. Your server can even leave your food outside your door if you want. And the concierge can send up anything else you need. You won't have to see anyone, and no one will see you."

"Castle, a night here would probably cost me a month's salary, which I'm not even making right now," Kate protests.

"Kate, I've got it. Consider it compensation for consulting services on my book. If a hitman takes you out, I'll be stuck with a short story, an extremely depressing one. You're worth the investment. The rooms on the VIP floor all come with almost every TV channel known to man and movies on demand. There are music channels too. The Wi-Fi is secure. Oh, and one more thing. The VIP suites all come with a hot tub. You can let the foam swirl around you, drink good wine, and read a great book— maybe one of mine. You'll be safe, Kate. That's all that matters."

"Listen to him, Kate," Johanna beseeches.

Kate gestures toward the registration desk. "All right, Castle, check me in. I'll stay until I can work out my next step."


	18. Chapter 18

Guardian Angel

Chapter 18

Kate paces barefoot over the thick carpeting in her suite. She has access to any luxury she would want, and she hates it. What she needs is to be doing something, but at that moment, she doesn't have a clue what. After Castle checked in three times with Alexis, she urged him to get home to his family. Until she hears from C.S.U. about the bug, they can't do much brainstorming. When she does hear, he can use the second key to get up to the suite.

She considers taking his suggestion about the hot tub, but she can't sit still that long, and she can't see it being much fun alone anyway. Maybe she and Castle… Images swirl through her mind. Hell! Where did those come from? Her mother's less then subtle comments must be getting to her. "Mom, are you here?" she calls to the empty air.

Johanna shimmers into sight. "I was telling your Nonna that you made her sauce. She's sure that now that Rick's tasted it, he won't be able to stay away, even if you were a little heavy-handed with the garlic. She sends her love."

"Give her mine too, Mom, but I don't need you to double team me about Castle. With everything that's going on, I can't think about romantic entanglements."

"How would you know? You never had a serious enough relationship with anyone to be entangled. You always found an excuse to end them before you had to commit."

"And lose someone like Dad lost you? Like I lost you?" Kate retorts. "I don't think I could handle that."

"So you're going to cut yourself off from the joy of loving someone because you're afraid of the grief? What happened to my kick-ass daughter, who wouldn't let herself give in to the fear of anything?"

"Some bastard murdered her mother and sent her father diving into a bottle. He may be after me now too. I have to get him before he gets me. And I can't put Rick in the line of fire."

"He may be there anyway, Kate. One thing that we all find out when we leave this earth is that no human is truly in control, and when you think you are, that's when you really step in it. We need all the help — and love — we can get. Love is The Father's gift to this world, but he won't make you accept it."

An alert from Kate's cell blares, cutting off the exchange. Kate grabs her phone as a lifeline. "Detective Beckett, this is Carl from C.S.U. I have some information on the eavesdropping device you found. The military has never formally admitted to employing a design like it, but unofficially it's used in special ops. What you found is a version manufactured for civilian use. I'll text you the report. We traced the serial number to a survivalist shop out on Staten Island. I'm attaching the address, too."

"Thanks, Carl, I appreciate it."

"All in a day's work, Detective. Can't have some asshat bugging the N.Y.P.D."

"Are you going to tell Castle?" Johanna asks.

Kate digs her teeth into her bottom lip. "I guess I'll have to. He knows I was waiting to hear from C.S.U. I just don't want him stumbling into the hitman."

"You shouldn't be stumbling into the hitman either," Johanna advises. "Between the two of you, you should be able to figure out how to pursue your clue without getting killed."

"Mom, you're starting to sound like him."

"I did get you hooked on Castle's books," Johanna reminds her daughter.

* * *

Castle uses his key for the elevator but knocks on the entrance to Kate's suite. "It's me, Beckett."

Kate pulls the door open and closes it quickly behind him. "Did you get the info I sent you on the bug?"

"Uh-huh. And I forwarded it to Izzy, in case he comes up with something C.S.U. might not know."

"You think he will?" Kate asks.

"He always has interesting factoids. I don't even want to think about how he gets any of them. You didn't say anything about prints on the bug. Did C.S.U. find any?"

"No. No D.N.A. match to anyone but me, either. If our killer left it, he was careful."

"So, where do we go from here?" Castle asks.

"We need to check out that store on Staten Island."

Castle checks his watch. "They're probably closed now, but can't you just call in the morning?"

Kate shakes her head. "It's a lot easier to get information out of people face-to-face, especially if they don't know you're fishing for it."

"Are you talking about going undercover?" Castle wonders.

"Yeah."

"Then let me go," Castle proposes. "I could say I'm working on a book, like I did with McCallister."

"I don't know, Castle. Survivalists might regard an author as a member of the elite and clam up. If I go in, it would be better if I fit the profile."

"How about if we both go in as a survivalist couple? I've ordered a lot of stuff to be ready for a zombie apocalypse. I even went to zombie apocalypse camp."

Kate's mouth falls open. "Castle, you're kidding, right? A zombie apocalypse?"

"Bring it on. Make fun. But I know the language. I know the look too. Mother always tells me that the right costume supports a portrayal. If you want to play survivalist, I can help you pull it off. And I can get the togs we'll need to do it."

Johanna skewers her daughter with her gaze. "Kate."

"All right, Castle. You can play survivalist with me."

"Fine. I guess I'll go home now. I can get Mother to point me at her favorite costume supplier, and get us outfitted in the morning."

"Kate," Johanna prompts again, raising an eyebrow.

Kate draws an uneven breath. "Castle, wait. It's going to be a long night, and I could use some company. We could watch a movie, or do you think the concierge could find us a deck of cards?"

Castle chuckles. "He'd probably mark them for you if you asked. Are you a fan of Texas hold'em?"

"Given a choice, I prefer five-card draw. More strategy, less hype."

"Very true. All right, Kate, I will help you pass a couple of hours with cards — or whatever."

"Thanks, Castle."

"No problem. More grist for the Nikki Heat mill."

Johanna settles into a corner, with the slightest upturn shaping her lips.

* * *

"Where the f*** is she?" Coonan growls at his computer. Beckett found and disabled his bug somehow. And now he has no idea where she is. The big man's plant at the 12th reported that Detective Beckett is on leave, but an I.R. scan of her apartment shows it empty.

None of Coonan's usual street sources has come up with anything either. Maybe she's with that hack writer. Property records show him owning a loft on Broome Street and a house in the Hamptons. Unfortunately, the Broome Street address is a security building. If Coonan were sure Beckett was there, it would still take some doing to go after her. And even if he only hits light traffic, it would take him at least an hour and a half to get to the Hamptons. It could be one hell of a wild goose chase.

He checks the corner of his screen. It's almost midnight. He can put out a message on the web to certain acquaintances and get some sleep. What he needs may pop up in the morning.


	19. Chapter 19

Guardian Angel

Chapter 19

Grooves flank the bridge of Kate's nose as Rick rakes in another pot. "Castle, do I have a tell or something?"

Castle's eyebrows ripple in a mini impression of a wave. "Kate, if I told you that, I wouldn't be much of a player, would I? But when you're off suspension, if you really want to know, you should watch the tapes of some of your interrogations. See what you do when you're bluffing."

"You were taking notes?"

"Mental notes when I was in the room with you, physical ones when I was stuck in observation. You are outstanding, Kate. It took me a while to sort out your tactics. Going in cold, your perps would never have a chance."

Kate presses the tip of her finger to her bottom lip. "That's comforting — I guess. But are you going to give whatever you think my tells are to Nikki Heat?"

Reaching across the suite's small table, Castle brushes his fingertips over the back of Kate's hand. "I couldn't do that to you. Nikki will share your brilliance, your compassion, and definitely your hard-headedness, but your tricks of the trade are off-limits. I would never do anything to hurt you, Kate. I need you to know that."

"So, if you were writing a scene like this for Nikki, how would you do it?"

"Well, I told you I was planning to call the book 'Heat Wave.' You know how Con Ed is when we need air conditioning the most — brownouts and blackouts. Anyway, the city would be without power. Heat and Rook — Jameson Rook, intrepid investigative reporter — would be at her place. I haven't figured out the details yet. But somehow, her foot ended up connecting with his jaw, and she feels a little guilty. She'd put some ice on it for him, but of course, with the electricity out, she doesn't have any. So they fall back on alcohol as a pain killer, and things go on from there."

"Go on to what?"

"I haven't written it yet. We'll both have to read the book."

"Are you in pain, Castle?"

"I was when I didn't have a character that allowed me to pour myself out on the page. But not now. How about you? My author's eye tells me your stopper is still jammed in pretty tight. Pressure can only build up so far, Kate, before something blows."

"He's right about that, Katie-girl," Johanna inserts.

"I'm fine," Kate insists, "but alcohol and cards do go together."

"Only if you add salty snacks," Rick adds.

Kate points at the minibar. "There's all kinds of junk in there."

Crossing the room, Castle hunkers down in front of the pricy repository. "Whew! Six bucks for water, and it isn't even French. And who knows how old those chips are? We can do better than those little airline-style booze bottles, too. What's your favorite wine? Or would you rather have the hard stuff ?"

"We'd better stick to the wine," Kate decides, "if we're going to pull off our masquerade tomorrow."

Rick picks up the landline and punches the key for room service. "Sancerre, sauvignon blanc, hot chips and dips platter, priority platinum."

"Priority platinum, Castle?" Kate questions.

"Code for 'Add the extra charge for moving your ass.' So, where were we? Oh yeah. You just lost a huge pot. Ready for the next hand?"

"After you as much as told me you can read me like a book? No more cards, Castle. How would you feel about Monopoly?"

"I'll have the concierge send up a set. Ooh! I hope he has the 'Star Wars' version.

* * *

Castle regards his rapidly dwindling cache of scrip. "Kate, have you ever considered becoming a real estate mogul? You'd clean up."

"I'd rather catch the guys menacing society than be one." She drains the last of the wine in her glass. "This is good. I think it might be my new favorite."

"Then, I'm glad this evening had a positive outcome of sorts, but I really should be getting home. I need to get up early to consult with Mother about our undercover raiment and see Alexis before she leaves for school."

"Of course. Thanks for hanging in with me." Kate leans across the table, meaning to peck Castle's cheek. Or, she thinks that's was what she means to do - until her lips meet his. Rick pulls her to him as they rise from their chairs as one. Stretching on tiptoe, Kate cups the back of his head, deepening the kiss. As heat surges through them, Castle pulls back. "Kate, if I don't go now, I may not be able to leave at all. What do you want?"

Kate steps back. "I want you, Rick, but…"

"The timing sucks."

Kate swallows hard. "It sure the f*** does."

Rick wryly smiles at her. "Not the best choice of words. I'll see you tomorrow, Kate, as soon as I get everything we'll need together. We'll put on our little charade, and I guess we'll just have to see what comes next."

"Yeah, I guess we will," Kate agrees. "Good night, Rick."

"Good night, Kate."

* * *

"Camo? Really, Castle?" Kate demands, surveying the outfits Rick laid out on the suite's king-sized luxury bed. "What good is camo in New York City? It doesn't blend in with concrete."

"I know," Castle agrees, "but survivalists like it. I saw a proposal once, for a space force with camo uniforms. They weren't all bad. The insignia were cribbed from Starfleet, but some genius thinks there's greenery on the moon. Anyway, the cargo pants have all kinds of cool pockets. Lots of places you can hide your piece."

"You think I'll need it, Castle?"

"I hope not, but I know you're more comfortable with it on you somewhere. I haven't seen you take it off since you came to the Golden Bowl."

"You weren't here when I took a shower, but," Kate concedes, "I did keep it within reach. So, what's our cover story?"

"We saw something on Facebook about an asteroid almost hitting the earth, and we've been survivalists ever since. We can also try to slip in something about thinking our neighbors might be spies for 'the other side' — whatever that is. That would give us an excuse to talk about listening devices. Oh, and I did get a text from Izzy. He said that mercenaries favor listening devices that fit the specs C.S.U. sent you on the bug we found. It's possible our hitman might have served in special ops and moved on to something more lucrative overseas before settling in to ply his murderous trade here."

"That could be useful to know. Thank Izzy for me."

"I did. And I arranged to send him a case of Flaming Moe. He can't get enough of the stuff. So, are you ready to slip into character?"

"Sure, I'll change in the bathroom, if you want to change out here."

Castle dons his own gear while Kate is gone, and whirls to check her out as she emerges from the facilities. "The braids are a nice touch, Kate. Very woodsy. But something is missing. We are supposed to be husband and wife, aren't we?"

"Yeah, Castle, so?"

Castle reaches into the pocket of the pants he's just shed and pulls out two gold bands. He slips the larger one on his finger and hands the other to Kate. "These are just props, but Mother promised that none of the jewelry from the costume house will turn your finger green. We'll look convincing enough."

"OK," Kate responds, hesitantly slipping on her ring. "I guess we're ready."


	20. Chapter 20

Guardian Angel

Chapter 20

After arriving in a borrowed pickup truck, Castle gazes around the Survival Barn as if he'd just stumbled into Disneyland. "Kate, this place is amazing! With stuff from here, we could survive anything."

"How long do you think we should prepare for?" Kate wonders loudly. "I mean, the dust cloud from an asteroid hit might keep anything from growing for years. And it will kill the animals, too. You wouldn't be able to hunt."

"You're so right," an approaching salesman declares. "You'll need supplies for five years, minimum. But we'll be happy to help you out. Lawrence Chaney," he announces, extending his hand, "but folks call me 'Chain,' because I help them hold the line."

"We could use help with that," Castle declares. "We just bought a house from the fifties that still has a fallout shelter, but the former owners were libtards. They turned it into a recording studio. I don't know who they thought they'd record for when the impact comes, but they got rid of anything that could keep a person alive. We put beds and shelves down there. There's water from a deep well and geothermal power, but we need everything else."

Chain nods enthusiastically. "Sounds like you have the start of a great setup, and we can help with whatever you want to finish it up. Let's start with food. Will you be cooking, or do you need meals ready to eat?"

Kate rocks back on the heels of her hiking boots, jamming her thumbs into her waistband. "Oh, I can cook. My mama always told me the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Castle grins, patting his abdomen. "She's right about that. This lady can cook up a storm."

Chain claps Castle on the shoulder. "That's great, Mr.…"

"Rick," Castle fills in, "and my woman here is Kate."

"Rick, Kate, we'll start with the staples and basic equipment then, and by the time we're finished, you be able to live through anything."

* * *

Kate arches questioning eyebrows at Castle as Chain totes up their purchases, taking care the salesman notices. "Was there something else you were looking for?" Chain inquires, as Castle pulls out a wad of cash.

"Go on, tell him, Rick, " Kate urges.

"Um," Castle hesitates.

Kate leans over the counter. "I think the people next door are from 'there,'" she whispers huskily. "And they're spying on us. I need to find out what they know, without them finding out I'm suspicious."

"Kate saw a video about how mercenaries bug their targets before attacking," Castle picks up.

"Right," Kate agrees enthusiastically. " They use tiny little thingies the enemy can hardly see but pick up everything they say. Do you have anything like that?"

Chain strokes his clean-shaven jaw. "We are associated with former mercenaries who teach classes for our customers about assessing threats and living off the land — that kind of thing. We stock items like that for them. I can sell you one, but you'll need instruction on how to use it."

Kate fist pumps the air. "I'd love to take a class like that."

"How do we sign up?" Castle inquires.

"We have a session starting tomorrow. You can register now. I'll have our guys load up your order, and we'll see you bright and early."

"Can't wait!" Kate exclaims.

* * *

"Castle, what are you going to do with all this stuff?" Kate asks, climbing into the passenger seat of the pickup.

"I have a room at a storage facility where I keep my collections: comic books, action figures, alien weapons, years worth. We can stash it there until I line up a homeless shelter or food pantry that can use it. The guy who runs the place loaned me the truck and has dollies and stuff so we can stow most of this load. Then we'll probably need to get more clothes for tomorrow's adventure. I wasn't anticipating long-term cosplay."

"Neither was I," Kate admits, "but we could be meeting up with someone who knows Mom's killer."

"Or we could be meeting up with the bastard himself," Castle points out.

Kate shakes her head. "I don't think so, Castle. Why would someone who makes the kind of money a hitman does want to waste his time with a bunch of would-be Bear Grylises?"

"For a laugh?" Castle offers. "But you're probably right, Kate. He'd be blowing hours he could use for a lucrative contract. Still, I'm glad you'll have your gun. I may bring along some defensive weapons from my zombie apocalypse kit too."

"Castle, aren't you supposed to shoot zombies in the head?"

"Uh-huh, but the hordes of scavenging humans can be just as big a threat."

"Just don't have Nikki Heat fighting any."

"I write mysteries and spy stories. Zombies are a different genre — although there are always crossovers," Rick muses.

"Castle, please."

"All right, Kate. I give you my word, Nikki Heat will never meet up with a zombie. How do you feel about vampires?"

"If Nikki puts enough garlic in her meat sauce, they won't be a problem."

"Good point," Castle acknowledges.

* * *

"Back, safe and sound," Castle declares, shutting the door of Kate's suite behind them and securing the privacy latch, "at least until tomorrow morning. I don't know about you, but I'm starved. After buying and hauling all that food and doing our other shopping, we were too busy to eat anything."

"You're right," Kate agrees. "And did you see those sandwiches they were serving in the cocktail lounge off the lobby when we came in? They looked incredible."

Castle can feel his mouth water at the mention of the outsized clubs. "We can have a couple sent up. Extra pickles?"

"Always."

* * *

Kate gazes contently at her empty plate, stretching her legs out in front of her, and closing her eyes. "That was great, just what I needed."

"Is that all you needed, Kate?" Rick murmurs, reaching for her hand. "Was last night just in the 'Heat,' so to speak, of the moment?"

Emerald shards appear as Kate reopens her eyes. She leans toward Castle. "No, it wasn't. We both know it wasn't. We're getting closer to my mom's killer, and neither one of us can afford to be distracted by anything. But when we get through this, we'll have time to figure out where whatever this thing is between you and me is going."

Rick pushes out his chair, throwing his napkin on the room service tray. "I intend to hold you to that, Kate. I'm going home. I'll meet you here in the morning, very early in the morning. Didn't Chain say the class starts at sunrise?"

"Yeah, he did, Castle. Hey," Kate calls after him, "don't forget your zombie apocalypse stuff."

Rick heads for the door. "I'm not about to forget anything."

"What was that?" Johanna demands as Kate begins to pace the suite. "You two could have had an evening together, and you practically kicked him out."

Kate shoves her chair against the table. "Mom, I was telling the truth. We can't afford the distraction. What if tomorrow, I'm reliving some moment with Rick instead of paying attention, even for a split second. I could miss something that would point me toward your killer or worse put Castle or me into the line of fire. I have to stay focused, and I can't do that if I fall into Castle's arms or into bed with him. But I meant what I told him. We'll have time."

That's what everyone thinks, Kate," Johanna warns. "It doesn't always work out that way."


	21. Chapter 21

Guardian Angel

Chapter 21

Groaning as his alarm goes off at 4 a.m., Castle pads barefoot into the kitchen to start coffee brewing. Alexis looks up from the kitchen counter where she's typing on her laptop. "Hi, Dad. What are you doing up this early?"

"I'm working on an undercover thing with Beckett. What are you doing, Pumpkin?"

"Art History. I have a Twitter friend in France who's at the Louvre right now. She's telling me about what she's seeing in real paintings I can only see in books or on the web— textures and brushstrokes. Then next time Mom decides she wants to take me shopping in Paris, I can see for myself."

Rick nods as he sets up his coffee maker to brew. "A worthy ambition, all except the part about your mother spending the alimony I pay her on Paris couture."

"If I take her to the museum with me, I can keep her from going too wild."

Rick presses a kiss to the top of his daughter's head. "If you can pull that off, you're even more of a genius than I thought."

* * *

As an orange glow streaks from the eastern horizon, Kate and Rick wait in the Survival Barn's parking lot for their instructor to show up. A man in hiking gear charges out of the door of a Black Ford 150 truck. "These are the rules," he announces in a higher-pitched voice than Castle would have expected from the man's heavily muscled 6 foot, 4-inch frame. You are here to learn. I'm your instructor, Clint Freeborn. You will address me as Mr. Freeborn or Sir. When I talk, you listen. When I tell you to move, you move. When I tell you to stay put, no one goes wandering off. Is that clear?"

A group "Yes, Sir!" loudly echoes off the asphalt.

"Outstanding. Now, you may have been expecting a trip into the woods, but that's for another session. Make no mistake, this city has as many or more threats to your existence, as the wilderness does. It also has resources you may not have considered. Today, I will make you aware of them, but it will be your responsibility to put what you've learned to use. Are you ready to move out?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Then we will proceed west for one klick. Let's go."

* * *

Freeborn raises his fist as he leads his class to an empty lot. "Halt!" He shakes his head as several members of the group stumble into each other. "Your most important lesson is this: be aware of everything around you at all times. If you'd observed my hand going up, you wouldn't have been taken by surprise. It only takes a split second to be ambushed by an unfriendly or set off an I.E.D.

"You might pass this lot without a second look, but it can be both a source of life and a source of death. I would hope that all of you would have at least a year's supplies on hand and better five years. However, foraging skills may still be the difference between survival and starvation. Many edible plants grow in this city, at least five of them in this lot. They also grow in many of the city's parks, but I would caution you against well-manicured landscapes. Chemicals used to kill what many erroneously regard as weeds will destroy or poison your food. Areas where greenery flourishes as nature intended, are your sources of nutrition. However, they also harbor your enemies. I will be showing you examples of mugwort, garlic mustard, cattails, wild blackberries, and wild ramps. I would hope that all of you would at least recognize a dandelion, but I will be pointing those out too. All of those plants are edible, and some you can also use for medicine. I will also be cautioning you about poison ivy, poison sumac, cow parsnip, wild parsnip, stinging nettle, and giant hogweed. All of them are native to New York. Take notes, take pictures, do whatever is necessary to make sure that when you're on your own, you recognize what I've shown you."

"Yes, Sir!"

* * *

Kate sinks down on the couch in her suite and yanks at the laces of her heavy boots. "I wasn't expecting a nature hike."

"Neither was I," Castle confesses." "I knew a lot of that stuff from helping Alexis earn scouting badges, but some of it was new. And it was cool when Freeborn finally took us back to the shooting range behind the Survival Barn. You're a great shot."

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

"I took the training I needed to write Storm accurately. And I was supposed to be convincing as a hunter."

"I don't think you had any trouble with that, Castle, except that you'd probably be too tenderhearted to shoot a real furry friend."

"I admit, I would try to avoid shooting Bambi's mother, but if it were a matter of feeding or protecting my family or anyone I care about, I'd pull the trigger in a New York second."

"Yeah, me too," Kate agrees. "I just wish that I could have been there when it counted."

"The Father forbid," Johanna exclaims, "you might have died with me."

"So," Castle continues, oblivious of Johanna's presence, "if we're going to get anything besides a lesson in herbology, and instructions on operating listening devices, we need to find a link between Clint Freeborn and our killer. From what he told us about serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, there has to be one. We can start the search on our phones or your laptop here, but it would be better if I use the resources I have at the loft."

"I could come with you," Kate suggests.

"The killer, or his boss, probably knows there's a connection between us, Kate. Remember what McCallister said about ears everywhere. It was one thing when you were undercover, but if you come to the loft, you'd be putting yourself out there."

"Or worse, leading a murderer to your family," Kate realizes. "All right, Castle, if we can't find what we need here, you should do the research there, but keep me in the loop."

"Consider yourself the target of my lasso."

* * *

Castle rubs a kink in his neck. It's been a frustrating night, trying to track down the history of Clint Freeborn. His black ops background is clear from the walls Castle hits, if from nothing else. He's probably telling the truth about serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, even if what he did there is obscure. So far, Castle's found nothing about Freeborn's life as a mercenary— if he even was one. Rick decides to take a different tack and start checking images. While he was snapping the pictures of plants that Freeborn encouraged the group to take, he managed a few of the man himself. He can try his image matching program. It's not as fast as the visual recognition system the N.Y.P.D. would typically use. He won't have access to as many databases either, but he needs to give it a shot. Rick sets his computer to let out a loud alert if it finds a match, and lies down to take a nap.

It's 2 a.m. when "By Jove, I've got it!" emanates from a speaker in Castle's office, rousing him from a fitful slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he muzzily traverses the few steps to his laptop. The screen displays an image of a group of men, including Clint Freeborn, in military gear. The caption on the photograph reads, "Comrades in Arms," and lists the names of the men in the picture. The program identifies the source as a brochure from an organization that contracted its services to the U.S. Department of Defense. Bingo!


	22. Chapter 22

Guardian Angel

Chapter 22

Castle presses his forearm against his eyes and thinks about making another pot of coffee. If he drinks anymore, he'll probably slosh his way over to the Golden Bowl, but he's managed to filter the names of the men in the picture. Eliminating anyone who wouldn't have been in New York in the timeframe to make the hit on Johanna Beckett and the others leaves Rick with only two members of the group, Clint Freeborn and Dick Coonan. Somehow he can't see the Clint Freeborn who issues dire warnings about the dangers of giant hogweed, committing cold-blooded murder. Freeborn also showed no recognition of Kate or any suspicion about being asked how listening devices work. That leaves Dick Coonan.

At first glance, Coonan would hardly be a likely candidate. He bills himself as a philanthropist, building schools in Afghanistan. He even has a website full of impressive pictures of the facilities he erected for needy villagers. But funny thing, when Castle checked the images from last time Google Earth took shots of Afghanistan, most of the buildings weren't there. The documentation Coonan legally had to put out for his foundation was pretty sketchy too. It wouldn't be the first time public and private faces didn't match. Rick checks the time on his computer screen. Alexis will be up any minute. As soon as he gets his morning goodbye peck on the cheek, he'll take everything he found to Kate. He has no idea what their next move should be — in the investigation, anyway. He hopes that she does."

* * *

Kate looks through the stack of documents Castle brought to her suite. Castle, do you really think it's Coonan? Why would a hitman maintain a cover like that?"

"He could travel all over the world without raising red flags," Rick suggests. "Coonan might be doing other chores for whoever is holding his leash, or he might just get off on pulling a con. Psychopaths often appear charismatic and helpful. Ted Bundy's victims thought he was terrific — until he killed them."

Johanna gazes over Kate's shoulder. "I recognize him. And I recognize the name, too, Kate. He offered to contribute to my campaign to clean up the drugs in Washington Heights, but I wasn't taking any money. He was very charming in a smarmy kind of way."

"He probably was trying to get close to you," Kate mutters.

"What?" Castle asks.

"Nothing. I mean, I was just wondering if he tried to hang around my mother to stalk her without seeming to like he bugged my apartment."

Castle's stomach jumps into his throat. "You aren't going to try to let him get close to you, are you?"

"No!" Johanna screams.

"No," Kate echoes more calmly. "I'm not. I don't have a death wish, Castle."

"Sometimes you could have fooled me," Castle murmurs.

"No, really, Rick. I have a better idea. Turn about is fair play. He tried to bug me. Why don't we bug him? According to your documents, he has an office downtown. From what Clint Freeborn explained, that bug we ordered could pick up sound through a wall. We don't even have to go inside. The Survival Barn should sell it to us now that we've had Freeborn's class. We find a place outside the office to plant it and wait for Coonan to incriminate himself."

"Kate, evidence obtained using a bug without a warrant wouldn't be admissible, would it?"

"No," Kate admits, "but we can use what we pick up to catch him in the act of something."

"Something like trying to kill you?"

"Maybe. But if he does try, we'll know he's coming and be able to spring a trap. I know I can get Ryan and Esposito to help, maybe even get Montgomery on board if," she bats her eyelashes, "someone sends in an anonymous tip."

"Kate, no," Johanna pleads. "I hate this."

"Kate, there's got to be a way besides setting yourself up as a target, Rick insists."

"I'm not setting myself up, Castle. He's probably already after me, and he'll keep coming no matter what I do. As beautiful as this golden cage is, I can't stay here forever. I'm going to get Coonan, find out who his boss is, and put an end to this. Are you going to help me or not?"

"I might as well. It's not as if I could stop you."

* * *

Chain grins from behind the cash register. "Back already? Want to prepare for another year?"

"I would," Rick confides conspiratorially, but our shelter has all the supplies it can hold. Kate thinks she saw the neighbors watching us again."

"Clint Freeborn said that I learned what I need to know, and I want my bug," Kate proclaims.

Chain reaches under the counter. "I just happen to have it right here. That will be $180."

Rick digs in the pocket of a pair of well-worn jeans. "Whatever makes my woman happy."

* * *

In the glow of a nearby streetlight, Castle checks out the landscaping around a tidy brick building and points to a spot behind a large yew bush. "This should be perfect, Kate. It's the outside wall of his office, and the bug won't be visible from any angle. That batteries are good for 24 hours, more if he doesn't talk much. We can come back and change them if we need to."

"Yeah, looks good," Kate agrees. "But I hope we won't need to come back."

Castle fingers the bug. "Freeborn said to set the thing to broadcast in microbursts to avoid detection, and when I checked with Izzy, he agreed, so we're all set. All we have to do is attach it and get out of here before someone sees us."

"I'll do it," Kate declares, crawling behind the bush. "Just hand it to me."

"Here you go, Kate. One Super-Spy deluxe, primed and ready to go."

"Got it."

Rick reaches out to help her up. "I hope Coonan will be feeling talkative."

"Yeah, me too," Kate agrees.

"Just get out of here before someone sees you." Johanna urges.

* * *

Ecstasy paints Kate's features as she tastes her first bite of prime rib. "You were right, Castle. This is incredible."

"A perfect piece of meat, exquisitely cooked with the burn of horseradish for interest. What could be better?"

"Getting Dick Coonan to confess to murder and flip on the guy who hired him. But for now, the steak is wonderful. But the baked potato is enormous. I think I'll stick with the spinach salad. Hot bacon dressing is evil but irresistible."

"For me, anything bacon is irresistible. Kind of like anything, Beckett."

Kate clears her throat. "Um, what is the wine you ordered?"

"Château Pontet-Canet. Do you like it?"

Kate settles back in her chair, closing her eyes. "Yeah. It makes me feel all — I don't know, relaxed, warm."

"Kate Beckett relaxed. That's something I never thought I see. Maybe I should buy a case."

"Not a bad idea," Johanna comments.

Kate's eyes flick open, a mélange of brown and green. "It could be the wine, but after all this time, I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere, you know. Coonan isn't just some shadowy figure lurking out of reach. He's real, and real people have vulnerabilities. We'll find his, and expose what's been dirtying up this city for more than a decade. Then we'll sweep it the hell out."

Rick pulls his notebook out of his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to put down what you just said. It's the perfect attitude for Nikki Heat — and Kate Beckett."

"Castle, I don't think…"

An alert sounds simultaneously from Kate and Castle's phones. Castle drops his pen. "Dick, or someone, must have returned to Coonan's office. The game is on, Kate."


	23. Chapter 23

Guardian Angel

Chapter 23

"We should listen on your phone," Kate decides, "the sound is better."

"All right," Castle agrees, thumbing the speaker.

"You could have just left a message on the website," Coonan balks.

"That didn't buy me any action," a barely audible voice retorts.

"I had a setback," Coonan complains. "My surveillance device was disabled, and Beckett's in the wind. She obviously suspects someone's after her."

"So, she's been in hiding. How about that writer, Castle, who was chasing her tail? He might know where she is. Have you got an address on him?"

"Security building on Broome Street. Can't get in there without being seen."

Kate can hear a snort. "Then don't. Stake out the hack. Let him lead you to Beckett, then take both of them out. Are you with me? Problem solved. Listen, Dick, you charge way too much for your services for me to have to figure these things out for you. I want this done — yesterday. If you don't perform, there are others who can do the job."

"I've been cleaning up your messes for over ten years," Coonan protests.

"Long enough to lose your edge."

"I haven't lost anything," Coonan asserts. "Beckett will end up like her mother. And Castle can follow her to hell."

The tinny voice chills. "For your sake, you'd better be right."

Castle's fingers slowly uncurl from his phone as the feed from the bug quiets. "Kate, he's going to try to kill both of us."

"He's not going to succeed, Castle," Kate insists. "He's practically set up the trap for us. He'll be following you, but he won't hurt you until you lead him to me. Let him follow you right into the arms of the N.Y.P.D.'s finest. If he tries to draw a bead on you, Esposito, or an E.S.U. marksman can take him down from a half-mile away. But we want to take him alive so he can give us the voice on the phone."

Castle taps his finger on his cell. "A voiceprint could probably confirm it, but he sounded like Bracken to me."

"It was Bracken," Johanna confirms. "'Are you with me?'" was always his catchphrase."

"It sounded like him to me too," Kate remarks, "but to take down someone with that much power, we'll need more than a recording of questionable origin. Taking Coonan alive will be the hard part."

"Tranquilizer darts?" Castle wonders.

Kate giggles. "I can just see Esposito's face if I suggest it. Listen, will Alexis be all right if you stay at the hotel tonight? We have to be ready before Coonan spots you at your loft. And until then, we can't be seen together."

"I'll make sure Mother is with her. But I'm not sure who'll be keeping an eye on whom," Rick adds. "I can get a key for the smaller adjoining room. A lot of celebs find it convenient to use adjacent quarters for their bodyguards or assistants."

"Too convenient," Johanna opines.

"Sure, Castle," Kate agrees, a hint of disappointment nudging the back of her brain.

Castle nods. "And between the men's shop and hotel's sundries offerings, I should be able to get everything I need for a sleepover party. Hmm, maybe I should pick up a copy of "Teen Beat."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Castle."

* * *

"Kate, what are you staring at on your phone?" Rick queries, after putting the cart from their late-night snack out in the hall for pick up.

"A picture of Coonan. He doesn't look like a Dick."

"What? You think his mother should have named him Harvey or Oswald?"

"That's not what I mean. I picture hitmen as characters out of film noir or looking like John Malkovich. Coonan looks more like a guy who gets elected homecoming king. No wonder people buy his philanthropist front."

"It would make your job a lot easier if criminals always looked like criminals, wouldn't it? Malkovich is one scary looking dude, but Mother did a play with him and said he's a sweetheart. And there are a bunch of guys she's worked with who come across as heroic and are selfish sonsofbitches who stalk off to their trailers and shut down filming if kraft services has the wrong kind of tortilla chips. Most people wear masks of one kind or another."

"How about you, Castle? Is the devil-may-care playboy author just a sham?"

"Pretty much. I'll admit I enjoy good food, good wine, and looking at a pretty face, but none of those things are as important as the people who are dear to me. They never were. They just come with the bestselling writer gig. I'd rather watch a Star Trek marathon with my daughter than walk the red carpet with a supermodel — unless it's Iman. She tells the best David Bowie stories. But seriously, Kate, when someone comes off as too charming or accommodating, I get suspicious. That's one of the reasons I liked you instantly. You didn't try to enchant me with those beautiful eyes. You just shoved your badge in my face and didn't give an inch. It was refreshing. Still is, but we really should be turning in for the night. Coonan may start stalking me first thing in the morning if he isn't at my building already. We don't want to disappoint him."

"You're right," Kate concedes, "but I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

"Too wound up?" Castle asks.

"You never could sleep when you were excited," Johanna remembers.

"Not wound up, exactly. It's just every time I close my eyes, I see Coonan in that alley, holding a bloody knife and smirking at the body on the pavement."

"So don't try to close them. I had a trick I used to do with Alexis when she was a little girl. She was always afraid there were monsters under the bed. I'd look and tell her there weren't any, but she was scared that they'd come if she fell asleep. So I told her to keep her eyes open as long as she could, and I'd tell her a story. Then I'd make it the most boring tale I could think of. Within 15 minutes, she'd be out like a light."

"Castle, that's so sneaky, but after writing so much spine-chilling prose, can you still tell boring stories?"

"I think I still have a few. Would you like to hear about my 11th grade English teacher, Mr. Smith?"

"Well, the name is boring enough. Go ahead."

"Remember," Castle cautions, "You can lie on the bed, but don't close your eyes."

"Mr. Smith loved to mark papers. Every day he would use his favorite red pencil to find every missing comma and strike out the ones that didn't belong. One afternoon, when I had my usual afterschool detention, his pencil was missing. He looked everywhere for it. He looked under Lucy's chair. Then he looked under Jack's chair. Then he looked under Mandy's chair. Then he looked under Boomer's chair. Then he looked under Scott's chair. Then he looked under Mary's chair. Then he looked…"

Gazing at Kate's face, finally in repose, and noting the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, Rick gently pulls the coverlet from the foot of the bed over her. "Good night Kate."

* * *

In his somewhat less than V.I.P. level accommodations, Rick carefully opens his newly acquired package of Star Wars pajamas. He would have preferred looking more like Han than Luke, but beggars can't be choosers. Slipping between the cotton sheets of the standard queen bed, he wishes someone could tell him a boring story. With Kate next door, sleep won't come easily.


	24. Chapter 24

Guardian Angel

Chapter 24

Rick quietly uses the utilitarian facilities adjoining his small room to shower, and slips into fresh and newly acquired clothes. The sun is barely up, but he couldn't sleep anyway. Tiptoeing into Kate's suite, he picks up a few things he left there the night before and heads tor the door.

Rubbing her eyes, Kate props herself up on her elbow. "Castle, are you leaving? What time is it?"

"A little before six. I thought I'd slip in through a side door of the loft in case Coonan is watching. But even if he does see me, he'll follow me going out, not coming in. I'll get Alexis off to school. You and I are the targets. He won't waste any effort watching her. Get things set up with your people and let me know our next move."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Castle?"

"It doesn't really matter anymore if I'm sure, does it, Kate? The wheels are in motion. Neither one of us is going to be safe until we see Coonan and Bracken behind bars. And I need that to be as soon as possible. So, I'll see you later, and we'll do what we can to wrap this up." He strides over to the bed, kisses the tip of her nose and wiggles his eyebrows. "After that, we have other matters to explore."

"The Father willing," Johanna murmurs to herself.

* * *

"Dad, you just cracked six eggs into that bowl," Alexis observes. "Are we expecting company?"

"Not for breakfast," Castle replies. "I'm just a little distracted."

"About Detective Beckett? Something wrong?"

"Something may be right, but things could go wrong. But hey, that's not for you to worry about. What's on your agenda today?"

"I'm giving a little presentation in Art History, based on what my Twitter friend in France told me. It's nothing much. And I have math team practice after school. We're getting ready for the semi-finals."

"Good for you! When's the competition?"

"Two weeks from now. With all the stuff you're doing with Detective Beckett, do you think you'll have time to come?"

"I'll make time. Not that I can keep up with your calculations, but I wouldn't miss your academic triumphs." The yolks stare back as Rick looks into his bowl. "How many of these can you eat?"

"One or two, maybe, if you don't add too much butter."

"Which entirely takes the fun out of the whole culinary process, but I can put the rest of them away for my special chocolate chip waffles."

"Mm! Are we going to be celebrating something?" Alexis wonders.

"I hope so, Pumpkin."

* * *

Kate's cell rings on the stroke of 9:15, Montgomery's usual coffee break time. "Beckett, I got your voice file. Later we'll talk about what it means to be on administrative leave, but now that you and Castle have stepped in it, I'm getting things set up to go. If I understand what you two crazies have in mind, the idea is to get a ruthless murderer to follow Castle to you, so he can try to take out both of you. Then the N.Y.P.D. is supposed to jump in to keep the two of you from getting killed. Have I got that about right?"

"Yes, Sir, but we need to take him alive."

"Tall order, Beckett."

"Yes, Sir, but if Coonan flips, it will be worth it."

Kate can hear Montgomery's sigh through the phone. "Big if."

* * *

For the fifth time, Castle snaps his computer shut to pace the floor. He's been waiting for Kate to call for hours, but it seems like days. He tried burying himself in his work by creating a killer more than slightly reminiscent of Coonan, but it just made him antsier. Three cups of coffee haven't helped with that. At least peeing will be something to do. His hand is on his belt buckle when his cellphone blares.

"Castle, everything is set. I'm texting you the address where I need you to meet me. It was the headquarters of a bunko artist that Fraud busted a couple of months ago. The perp was obsessed with formal gardens."

"Sounds like the kind of quirk a Bond villain would have." Castle remarks.

"I guess so, but the grounds are just coming into bloom. It looks like the perfect place for a romantic hookup, but E.S.U. has cameras and observation posts watching every inch of the place."

So what are we supposed to do?"

"Stroll hand in hand, gaze into each other's eyes, and wait for the N.Y.P.D. to grab Coonan when he tries to take us out. It won't just be E.S.U. Ryan and Esposito will be there to take Coonan in since I'm still officially on leave."

"Is Espo bringing a tranquilizer gun?"

"I don't think so, but he has one of those tasers you can fire from a distance. E.S.U. should have tear gas too. I'll be wearing a vest under my shirt. We'll also put one on you."

What if Coonan decides to aim for our heads?"

Johanna closes her eyes, silently mouthing a prayer.

"He won't," Kate tries to assure both of them. "He can't get inside the perimeter without being seen, and it takes time to line up a shot like that. He'll get taken down before he knows what hit him."

"I imagine," Castle responds grimly, "that he's thinking the same about us."

After he finishes in the bathroom, Rick unlocks a drawer in his desk and pulls out a file of legal documents. He updated his will a couple of years ago when a nasty flu was going around, and he landed in the hospital with pneumonia. He'd recovered fine but started taking his mortality more seriously, particularly in terms of making sure his family was provided for — just in case. He flips through the pages. Alexis will be fine, at least financially, as will Mother. Rick asked the toughest person he knew, Paula Haas, to look out for them, surprised by her tears when she accepted. Everything is in order. He checks his watch. If he leaves in 20 minutes, the timing should work out perfectly. He just hopes Coonan is watching. God knows he doesn't want to go through this twice."

Coonan smirks as he watches Castle climb into a red Ferrari parked at the curb near the Broome Street building. The writer's not going to lose himself in traffic in that. And it's the perfect car for meeting a woman, even if that woman is a cop. Coonan will be downing a beer and collecting the rest of his fee before the end of the day. He waits for Castle to pull out before starting his own car. He doesn't want to get too close, but then he won't have to.

Castle's eyes flick to his rearview mirror. A vehicle has been following him for blocks. It's never been close enough for him to see the driver, but it's never been far away either. He doesn't need to reach for his phone; it's synched with the car. All he has to do is talk - if he can get enough air. "Beckett, I think Coonan's three cars behind me in a black SUV, and he's been there ever since I left the loft."

"Got it, Castle." She acknowledges. "The cops along the route will be keeping an eye out for him. Just drive straight here as if you don't notice."

"Roger that," Castle responds, his hands tightening on the wheel. The drive to the Beckett's flowery trap should only take about a half-hour. Rick just has to try to breathe.


	25. Chapter 25

Guardian Angel

Chapter 25

As Castle pulls his Ferrari onto the gravel-topped parking area at the edge of the gardens, Kate waves and smiles. When he emerges from the car, she offers her hand and leads him into a clump of dense foliage. "I stashed your vest here. Our guys spotted Coonan parking down the road. But we've got too much cover for him to see through here. Take off your top."

"Kate, I appreciate the sentiment, but isn't the timing a little off?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "Your vest goes under it. If Coonan spots it, we give everything away."

Castle takes the protective garment. "Just needed to lighten the mood — unless you also have a spare pair of pants on you, 36-inch waist." He unfastens the buttons on his shirt, and Kate secures his Kevlar sheath beneath it. "Sounds like Coonan should be arriving any minute."

"Yeah, and if this is going to work, we'll have to let him see us out there. You ready?"

"No, but let's go anyway."

Coonan smugly surveys the estate stretching ahead of him. He's been there before. Aside from defrauding his marks out of millions of dollars, Irving Gadden, the grifter who owned the place, seemed harmless. He wandered among his flowers, checking the progress of his blooms and selecting blossoms to fill vases inside the lavishly decorated main house. But the old man didn't like invaders in his territory. Gadden enlisted Coonan to make sure that anyone who tried to lure away Gadden's potential victims didn't survive to try again. He also took Coonan into his confidence regarding the secrets of the grounds.

Since he was a kid ripping off adults with three-card Monte, Irving always made sure he had an escape route — a back door, a back alley, or an open basement window. He never gave up the habit. As a man, he had tunnels built from the main house and gardens to the woods flanking the road. Gadden made sure he could come and go unseen. What he didn't count on was being surprised with his mistress. Gadden got stuck in a honey pot, with no way out.

No doubt, the N.Y.P.D. was more interested in recovering stolen assets than uncovering escape hatches. Coonan locates a tumbledown shack, apparently untouched. He presses a hidden release, and floorboards slide aside. His entrance to the tunnels is open. Beckett and Castle will be easy pickings.

Johanna imagines that buds just opening on rows of rosebushes have a lovely scent, but she can't smell them. She's corporeal enough to see, hear and speak, but that's all The Father gave her. Some pleasures are for those still bound to the earth. Kate and Rick seem to be enjoying them. Rick used a Swiss Army Knife to cut a deep red rose for Kate, and she drew in its fragrance before weaving the stem into her hair. Red is for lovers. Perhaps the color was a promise. Strolling through the flowers hand in hand, they appear as lovers, but that was the plan, to look vulnerable in the throes of infatuation. To Johanna's eyes, they look too vulnerable. Kate reassured her that the police are watching, but she can watch too. That's one earthly thing she can still accomplish.

Coonan grimaces at the mud soiling his shoes. Gadden always made sure the tunnels were dry, but he can't turn on the pumps from prison, and the cops, or whoever is in charge of keeping up the place, obviously don't know they exist. Dick uses a Mag-Lite to check a marking on the wall. It's the sign for the border of the gardens. He doesn't have much further to go.

* * *

"Any sign of him. Espo?" Kate asks, the com deep in her ear, transmitting her question.

"No dice, Kate. But Ryan checked Coonan's car. It's empty. The scumbag's got to be around here somewhere. Maybe he's taking a sh*t in the woods."

"He is a sh*t," Kate responds. "All right, keep watching."

"Maybe we should do something to draw him in," Rick suggests when Kate shakes her head at his inquiring eyebrow.

"What did you have in mind, Castle?"

His large hands cradling her hips, he pulls her against his body. "Something like this. And this," he adds, bending down for a kiss.

"Kate!" Johanna screams as Coonan shoves his way out of a hatch hidden beneath a patch of cornflowers.

Kate pulls away from Rick and whirls, grabbing for the gun in her ankle holster as Coonan charges, reaching for his own weapon. Castle dives at Coonan's legs, giving Kate a chance to get off a hurried shot, grazing Coonan's arm. The killer kicks free, knocking the breath from Rick's lungs, and aims at Kate as she aims at him. Esposito leads a tactical squad running toward Coonan as the hitman and Kate eye each other in a standoff.

Rick forces himself to breathe as he regards the incoming team. It's too slow and too far away. He fumbles in his pocket, his fingers wrapping around a spray canister of zombie repellent. It's probably just pepper spray. Damn! If he's lucky, it's pepper spray, but whatever it is may distract Coonan long enough for the forces of good to move in.

Castle sprays a mist in the attacker's face, coughing as blinded Coonan screams. Kate tackles Coonan to the ground a split second before the other cops arrive. Coonan groans as Esposito jerks his wounded arm behind him and snaps handcuffs on the killer's wrists.

"Thank the Father," Johanna murmurs.

"You all right, Rick?" Kate asks.

Castle grins. "Never better."

Kate stares down at her mother's murderer, writhing on the ground with a bleeding arm and burning eyes. "You may not be able to see me Coonan, but you can hear me. You have the right to remain silent, but your life won't be worth a damn if you do."

"Castle, did you really spray Coonan with zombie repellant?" Kate asks as Esposito shoves the killer toward a squad car on the perimeter of the grounds."

"That's what the label says, but whatever it is, I'm ordering another can. Scratch that. I'm ordering a case."

* * *

Castle looks on as Kate gathers up her things. "The suite is paid for through checkout time tomorrow, Kate. You could wallow in luxury for another night."

"No thanks, Castle. A gilded cage is still a cage. I want to go home. Montgomery is reinstating me tomorrow so I can interrogate Coonan. I need to put together my game plan."

"You want some company?" Castle offers. "Two heads are better than one."

Kate smiles as she stuffs the last of her clothes into a duffel bag. "Sure, I'd like that, Rick. But can we stop on the way to pick up a pizza? I've had enough of five-star dining, but I'm starving."

"Of course. Can't let New York's supercop go hungry," Rick declares. "What do you want on it?"

"Everything."

* * *

"Getting your thoughts together?" Castle asks as Kate writes intently in a notebook while downing the last bite of her fourth slice of pizza.

"Mmm. I think I've worked out how I'm going to approach Coonan, but it will depend on what he says. And Montgomery sent teams to search Coonan's apartment and his office. If they find anything that can be tied to other crimes, I'll have a lot more to work with."

"For sure, you've got him on attempted murder and oh, trespassing."

Kate giggles. "Sure. Trespassing could put us over the top. But Montgomery's going to call if he hears anything."

"Then that's it for the case, at least for a while. But we do have other things to talk about, Kate. And I think it might be time."

"Come on, Kate. Talk to the man," Johanna urges.

Kate's pen slips from her fingers. "Yeah, Castle, maybe it is time, but not for talking."


	26. Chapter 26

Guardian Angel

Chapter 26

The pizza box falls to the floor as Kate shoves it aside, leaning across the table. The flavors of savory spice and passion meld as her lips meet Rick's. His fingers entwine with hers, and he rises from his chair, pulling her with him. Plunging his hand into her hair, an involuntary gasp escapes his throat. A thorn from the rose still woven into Kate's locks penetrates the soft mound of flesh at the base of his thumb, but he ignores the flash of pain. The rose is like the woman wearing it; thorns guard its beauty.

Kate pushes her top off her shoulder, exposing the enticing softness beneath, and hinting at what Kate's kept behind her wall of obsession and fear. Pizza forgotten, Rick's like a prisoner invited to a lush banquet after years of subsistence on bread and water. As his mouth finds its first taste, the need to touch, to feel, to explore every hidden secret, is overwhelming. He freezes for a moment, staring at the bounty before him."

"Rick, don't **quit** now," Kate entreats.

"I was about to go anyway, but message received," Johanna declares.

"I'm not," Rick pants, sweeping Kate up and carrying her from her kitchen. Thank God, Kate left the bedroom door open. He lays her gently on the bed and helps her pull her top over her head. The bra beneath speaks of the inner Kate, lacy softness hidden beneath a tough exterior. Kate unsnaps the front clasp, revealing the tantalizing globes underneath, their pink buds straining upward. Rick's tongue circles them in turn, as Kate writhes in escalating need.

Kate grabs his hand, guiding it to the heat pulsing between her legs. "Rick."

With fingers made nimble by desperation, he frees her from the constraints of zipper, snap, and fabric. Hot and moist, the epicenter of her arousal grows beneath his touch. She arches in urgency, reaching out to bare more of him. As she pulls Rick into the growing disarray of the bedcoverings, he flips her above him, his hardness pressing against her need. While still retaining a sliver of his sanity, he strokes her to the brink of a madness that screams for his entry. "Kate, do we need? I mean, could you become …?"

"No. Fine. Safe," she pants. "Rick, now!"

Her head falls back as he fills her, the tips of her hair brushing his bare thighs. Faster! Deeper! Her ride crazes in wildness as his mouth again finds her breasts. As she moans her frustration at a climax just beyond reach, his fingertips find her final trigger. Their explosive release leaves them clinging through the aftershocks.

Finally catching his breath, Rick props himself up on one elbow and gazes down at Kate. "That – was - amazing! You are… Damn, Kate! "I'm a writer, but I don't have the words."

Kate presses his hand between the two of hers. "Babe, you don't need any."

* * *

From the warmth of Rick's arms, Kate reaches for her buzzing cellphone. Montgomery wastes no time on pleasantries. "Beckett, the search of Coonan's apartment turned up a knife. It was under his pillow. Damned perv probably slept with the thing. Anyway, the lab compared it to the information Murray turned up. It's consistent with the murder weapon. They also found blood from multiple sources trapped under the hilt. It will take a few days to sort it all out, but the DNA will probably tie the knife to multiple homicides."

"My mother?" Kate queries.

"Too soon to know. You want to let Coonan cook for a few days until we get the results?"

"No," Kate decides. "If I tell him the blood is there, he'll know how many killings it implicates him in, even if we don't. Coonan is smart enough to figure that if he doesn't cooperate in a damn big way, he's down for the count. Are we set for the morning?"

"Yeah, he's asked for a lawyer, but the medics said Coonan's good to go."

Kate's jaw tightens. "Good. A lawyer will probably advise him to do whatever it takes to save his ass. I'll make it work."

Rick nips at the tender notch of Kate's neck. "Everything OK?"

"Better than OK. We have enough to nail Coonan to the wall." Kate's cautious fingers brush splotches of blue and purple on Rick's torso. Ouch! I didn't see these when we were… Coonan really kicked you, didn't he?"

Rick gingerly fingers his coloring skin. "Only bruises. Probably just blooming now. I had too much adrenalin to feel them before. We have the sonofabitch. That's what matters. I had worse when I tried riding Alexis' scooter."

"You should have bought one of your own."

Rick grins. "I did, but I donated it to a group of philanthropic Castle fans to sell at a charity auction."

Eyes smiling, Kate traces her fingers over the line of his roughening jaw. "Of course you did."

* * *

"You're making chocolate chip waffles!" Alexis exclaims as Rick slips one from his iron onto a plate. "Did stuff go well with your thing with Detective Beckett?"

Rick plops the plate in front of his daughter and pours more batter into the hot grids. "All yours, Pumpkin, and yes, they did."

"You must have caught the killer."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, we caught him."

Alexis' eyebrows rise as she regards her father. "But that's not what we're celebrating, is it?"

"Let's say it's an integral part of it."

Martha sweeps down the stairs, helps herself to the coffee Castle brewed, and studies her son's face. "I know that look, Richard. You and Detective Beckett…"

"Mother!" Castle interrupts, inclining his head toward Alexis.

Alexis' fork stops halfway to her mouth. "It's OK, Dad. I figured out that you and Detective Beckett had sex. I'm a teenager. Sex is a lot of what we think about."

Rick shakes his head. "As long as all you do is think."

"Don't worry, Dad. You know we've had the talk. And even Mom tried to give me one."

"Before or after she moved into that house in Malibu with her director? Never mind. Just finish your breakfast and get ready for school. Beckett is conducting an interrogation this morning, and I want to be there to watch how she operates.

Martha raises her cup in salute. "I bet you do."

* * *

"Can't you take the cuffs off? My arm hurts," Coonan complains.

"You're alive to feel it, which is more than I can say for your victims," Kate retorts.

"My client didn't kill anyone," Jerry Adelson, Esquire, objects. "He didn't even fire his gun."

"I know what your client did, Mr. Adelson," Kate responds. "I was there, as were Richard Castle and a squad of police. We also caught it on camera. The video alone will send him to jail. But I'm not talking about what your client did with a gun. I'm referring to what he did with a knife. I would think you could find a better hiding place than under your pillow, Dick. Or maybe that's the only way you have something stiff in bed. But the reason you want to cuddle up to a murder weapon at night doesn't matter. The DNA of your victims that we found on it does. And there was lots of it. Even if your murder sentences run concurrently, you'll be in maximum security until you're in a hole in the ground — unless you do something to help yourself. You're a puppet, Dick. Who's pulling your strings?"

Adelson holds up his hand. "I need to consult with my client — alone."

Kate nods, triumph sweeping through her veins. "Yes, Counselor, I'm sure you do."


	27. Chapter 27

Guardian Angel

Chapter 27

As Kate strides away from Interrogation, Rick catches her up in his arms. "That was beautiful! Incredible! You destroyed him."

"We'll see what his lawyer tries to do, Babe, but it looks good." Kate smothers a giggle behind her hand. "Did you see the expression on Coonan's face when I talked about him sleeping with his knife?"

Castle grins. "That was the best part. So what happens now?"

"We give Jerry Adelson as much time as he wants with Coonan. After that, he'll probably demand to have someone from the D.A.'s office in on the negotiations. That's when we nail him down, getting him to flip on Bracken."

"And in the meantime, you want to take a walk or something?" Castle asks.

"I really should be around to respond to whatever Adelson demands. But I have an idea, and we don't have to leave the building."

"After burning all that brain energy, you want to get a snack? This morning's doughnuts were delivered to the breakroom just as I was coming in. The locusts shouldn't have devoured them completely yet."

"Maybe in a while, but there's something I want, first." Taking Castle's hand, she leads him to a tiny but empty office. "This used to belong to the guy who fixed our equipment, back when the problem was a loose wire or something. But with everything going electronic, when he retired, Tech took over most of his job with maintenance picking up the rest. Montgomery likes to have his people where he can see them, so he hasn't assigned this space to anyone else." She presses a button on the doorknob. "It even locks."

Castle's eyebrows dance a gleeful jig. "So it does. And what did you have in mind doing in this little hideaway?"

Kate's hands find a grip just below Rick's back pockets. "I'm sure we'll figure out something."

Castle fiddles with the top button of Kate's blouse. "Ideas are coming to me as we speak."

* * *

"Detective Beckett," Officer L.T. Tolliver yells into the bullpen, "your suspect's lawyer wants to talk to you."

Kate rushes to open the door of the small room, a crack. "Be right there," she responds, hastily straightening her clothes and finger-combing her hair.

Castle tucks his shirt back into his slacks. "That didn't take long."

"No, it didn't," Kate agrees. "But it's probably good news. Maybe we can pick this up later."

"Perhaps in less sparse surroundings, " Rick suggests, "although this place does lend a spirit of adventure." He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. "Your lipstick is smeared. There, that's got it. Go get 'em tigress."

Kate opens the door to Interrogation while Castle takes up his post in Observation. "Mr. Adelson, I take it your client has something to say."

"My client has a lot to say," Adelson declares, "but not just to you. Get the D.A. in here, and I mean Lou Karnacki, not some pissant A.D.A. What Mr. Coonan has to say will blow a hole in the fabric of this city and maybe this country."

"Considering the miracle your client is going to need, Mr. Adelson," Kate replies. "you'd better hope that it does. I'll discuss your request with my captain."

"What did Karnacki say?" Kate asks as Montgomery puts the receiver of his landline back in its cradle.

"That he's only going to take the meeting because we go back so far and if it doesn't pan out I'm going to owe him a bottle of 50-year-old single malt. Also, he wants to wait until we have more from the lab. As soon as C.S.U. gives us the high sign on the D.N.A., he'll set a time for a meeting with Adelson and Coonan."

"That won't be at least until tomorrow, maybe longer," Kate protests.

Montgomery runs his palm over his increasingly higher forehead. "That's the deal, Beckett. And after what you pulled, you're lucky you're still in the mix. So, go home and get Castle out of here too. I'll let you know when the lab results come back and when Lou and I set the meeting."

"Sir, I can't just sit around."

"Then go to the gym, take a walk, climb the Statue of Liberty, I don't care." He pulls a sealed envelope out of his drawer. "Your letter of reprimand. If the deal with Coonan goes the way you hope it will, this goes in the shredder. Now grab that shadow of yours and get the heck out of here."

"Yes, Sir."

"A couple of days!" Castle repeats incredulously.

Kate sighs. "Maybe longer. We're lucky Montgomery and Karnacki are old friends, or we might not have gotten the meeting at all. I can't remember ever seeing the D.A. come to the precinct. Let's just go, Castle. OK?"

"Whatever you want. Can I buy you a hot dog? There's a Nathan's vendor set up right down the block."

Kate tugs her purse out of the drawer of her desk. "No thanks, Castle. I lost my appetite."

"You want to go back to your apartment?" Castle asks as they leave the building.

Kate shrugs. "To be honest, Rick, I don't know where I want to go. All the notes on my mother's case at my apartment will just make the time waiting more frustrating."

"Then come back to my loft with me. Alexis is at school and will be going to Math Team afterward. She's hot and heavy into practice for the semi-finals."

A smile hints at Kate's lips. "Good for her."

"And Mother's tutoring some ingenue in stagecraft," Rick continues. "We'll have the place to ourselves. We could watch something soapy and immerse ourselves in someone else's troubles, or get lost in an adventure on one of the movie channels. I get them all."

"All right, Castle, but let's walk. I can use the air."

"Yeah," Rick agrees. "Me too."

* * *

"F***ing Coonan!" Bracken slams his fist on his desk. The idiot had to get himself caught. If he opens his mouth… The pol takes a breath. Obviously, the fumbling hitman hasn't said anything yet, or the press would be breaking down Bracken's door even before the D.A. worked out a way to charge him. The N.Y.P.D. leaks like a sieve, something he's always used to his advantage, and a scandal about a high official would be big news and all over social media before it even hit the mainstream press. Well, so far, so good. If he can get Coonan taken out before he spills, he can salvage the situation. Maddox is in D.C., but it shouldn't take long to get him to New York. He should have sent him the moment Coonan started screwing up. And Maddox will enjoy taking out Coonan, and whoever else requires elimination. He always savors his assignments.

* * *

Castle brings up the guide for his satellite service and hands Beckett the remote. "Pick whatever you want." Rick reaches under the couch to pull out a plastic storage box. "I have Raisinettes, Milk Duds, Good & Plenty, Hershey's kisses, and M&M's. I also have three flavors of ice cream in the freezer. What's your pleasure?"

"Can we start with the ice cream?" Kate wonders.

"Of course. Chocolate, vanilla, or potato chip fudge?"

"There's really an ice cream flavor called potato chip fudge?"

"I admit it sounds a little strange. But once you try it, you'll be a believer." Castle asserts.

Kate spies Johanna shimmering into sight. "Castle, you'd be surprised at what I can believe."


	28. Chapter 28

Guardian Angel

Chapter 28

Carefully surveying every inch of his quarters, Cole Maddox notes any possible weaknesses in his security. His corporate suite is on the top floor, making it highly defendable but less easy to escape. The roof is always an option, but only if he has quick access to a helicopter or can set up a zipline. He'll be better off if no one can figure out where he is.

He had to pay for his rental car and accommodations with a credit card, but the stolen identity would lead the police down a false trail. The city is full of cameras. He could do without that. He prefers open country where he can run down and exhaust his prey, with plenty of time to enjoy its pain before inflicting the final blow.

The close quarters of the city require quick kills and rapid escape. Still, over the years, his assignments have made him an expert at that. No one has come close to catching him, which makes it more galling that Bracken didn't send him in first instead of that idiot Coonan. So now, Cole has to silence the weak link. He will. He just hopes he'll have a chance for a little fun before terminating Coonan's employment — permanently. First, he has to figure out where the failed operative is being kept. There shouldn't be much of a trick to that. He can watch Coonan's mouthpiece, Adelson. Sooner or later, he'll lead Maddox to his client. Cole hopes it's sooner. He hates lawyers.

* * *

Grudgingly, Kate lifts her head from Rick's shoulder. "I should go home. Alexis will be back soon, and you should spend some time with your daughter."

"Your presence in no way precludes my doing so, Kate. She jumped to a quick but correct conclusion about my involvement with you. She's fine with it. And trust me, when she comes back from a practice session, she pretty much just wants to inhale half the contents of the refrigerator before going up to her room to study. She's always convinced that her skills need more work."

"Which is why she's so good," Kate concludes. "When you get overconfident is when you screw up."

"Were you a mathlete?" Castle asks.

"No way! At Stuy, our mathletes were the students who went for Ph.D.s and are teaching at Columbia or Harvard now. A couple of them are in think tanks. I was thinking about the academy. As a cadet, I was out in front on just about everything, breaking all the records."

Castle flicks a strand of hair from Kate's face. "I'm not surprised, considering your meteoric rise as a detective. Montgomery told me that you made the grade faster than any woman in the N.Y.P.D."

"I didn't see you chatting with Montgomery."

"Kate, if you did, I'd wonder about you. We were talking in the men's room. He made the mistake of trying one of Ryan's bean burritos. But anyway, he sees you as the shining light in the precinct."

Kate rolls her eyes. "You'd never know it from my letter of reprimand."

"He does think you could use more discipline. But we both know he can't wait to turn that missive into confetti. He believes that if you want to try for it, you could make captain someday."

Kate absently rolls a Milk Dud in her fingers. "I'm not sure I'd want to, Castle. I'm a street cop, and I like puzzles, not paperwork."

"That makes two of us. Hey, how long does it take you to do the crossword in the Ledger?"

"What day of the week?"

"Sunday."

Kate winces. "Ooh, that's the hardest one, Castle. Probably at least an hour."

"Kate, most people can't finish it at all, unless they cheat and look at the key."

"What would be the point of that? You can't cheat and look at the key to a murder. If you could, I'd be out of a job."

"So, if suddenly every murder in the city could be solved just by checking some yet, undiscovered, clue. What would you do?"

"I don't know, Castle. A scenario like that would cut into your job as much as it would mine. What would you do?"

"Write science fiction, or better still, science fiction romance novels, all the gadgety fun with happy endings. But you didn't answer my question," Rick persists. "What would you do?"

Kate walks her fingers down Castle's thigh. "I guess I'd read science fiction romance novels."

Castle leans in for a kiss. "Very good answer, Detective."

"Hi, Dad!" Alexis calls as the front door swings open. "Paige is coming over to study with me. I'm going to order a pu-pu platter. Do you and Detective Beckett want something?"

"Best laid plans," Castle mutters, glancing at Kate, who shakes her head. "No thanks, sweetie. You and Paige enjoy."

"I couldn't go near Chinese or any other kind of food right now," Kate admits as Alexis retreats to Rick's office to make her call. "I'm in a movie-candy sugar coma."

Castle settles back against the cushions of the couch. "One of the few joys of adulthood is getting to act like a child."

"I think I will be going home, Babe," Kate decides, pressing a consolation kiss to Castle's suddenly pouting lips. "I'll give you a call if the lab comes up with anything."

"Or you could just give me a call," Castle suggests.

Kate squeezes his hand. "Yes, I could."

* * *

Johanna shimmers into sight beside Kate as the detective makes her walk home. "You could have stayed with him. It's not as if you and Rick would be humping each other in front of Alexis and her friend. But even listening to that jazz you like so much or watching one more movie, you'd have the comfort of another person going through the waiting with you. That can make all the difference."

"I know," Kate concedes, "but if I stayed, I'd want to be humping him."

Johanna chuckles. "I understand."

* * *

Jerry Adelson scowls at his empty coffee cup while studying Coonan's case file. There isn't much to study. The cops are playing things close to the vest, and so is his client. Coonan is afraid of his boss, whoever that is, more than he's scared of the cops. He wants Adelson to ask for WITSEC, but he won't say why he'll need it. No way will that work with Karnacki. Coonan is going to have to come clean with the D.A. But if Jerry's going to make any kind of a decent deal, Coonan's going to have to come clean with him first. So far, he's not been willing to do that, but Jerry can give it one more shot. It's just long enough after rush hour to readily get a cab to the 12th Precinct where Coonan's in a holding cell.

From his rental car, Maddox watches Adelson emerge from his office and hail a taxi. Great, he shouldn't have any trouble trailing the lawyer. The driver won't spot Cole and seat belted into the back, Adelson is unlikely to turn round and look. The job just got a bit easier. From the direction that Adelson's cab is taking, Maddox guesses he's headed for the 12th Precinct. Maddox isn't about to walk into a building full of cops — not if he can help it anyway. But Coonan will probably be transferred to the Tombs to await charging. All sorts of accidents happen on prisoner transfers. Maddox will just have to see about arranging one — and the sooner, the better. Bracken is getting antsy. The fat assholes that sit back while others take care of business, always do.


	29. Chapter 29

Guardian Angel

Chapter 29

"Katie-girl, you gave Rick a charming answer, but I'd like to hear the real one."

"To what, Mom?" Kate asks.

"What would you do if you couldn't be a cop?"

Kate blows out a deep breath. "Since you died, I never really thought about it. A cop was what I needed to be. I had to find you some justice."

"And when this is all over and Coonan and Bracken are behind bars, what then?" Johanna queries. "Butcher, baker, candlestick maker? A wife? A mother?"

"I'm not looking that far ahead. But," Kate whispers conspiratorially, "what I really wanted to do tonight is f*** Rick's brains out."

Johanna's eyes twinkle. "Yeah, I picked up on that. But Kate, for the future, you've got to start thinking about what you want for yourself, not for me. Other than having to leave you and your father to cope, I have no regrets. What will truly make Kate Beckett happy, and is Rick Castle part of it?"

"I'll think about that, Mom," Kate promises, "as soon as I see the prison doors close behind William Bracken, and Coonan too."

* * *

Castle flips restlessly through the endless channels on his onscreen guide. Watching anything without Kate holds no interest at all. He should be writing anyway. He's got what he wants from Heat and Rook planned out pretty well in his head. He has to get it down on the page to see how well it works. And it will be something to do until he's tired enough to fall asleep — if he can fall asleep. A bed without Kate is going to seem damned empty.

* * *

"Carl, what's the holdup?" Montgomery demands on a call to the CSU chief, after finding nothing from the lab in his morning email. "We've had DNA results faster than this before."

"From a weapon that was used on at least 20 people?" Carl challenges. "Captain Montgomery, we have to separate and amplify the DNA from each individual and then look for a match. In some cases, we may be looking for familial matches, because we'll have no sample from the victim. We're going as fast as we can. But hell, if I were you, I wouldn't let my suspect near anything sharp. Someone forgot the solder when he was wired."

"Believe me, Chief," Montgomery responds, "you're not telling me anything we haven't already figured out. Holding him here this long is creeping out my staff, but we want to get the charges against him locked down before we send him anywhere."

"We are running the tests as fast as we can," Charles assures Montgomery. "I'll personally let you know the moment we have what you need."

* * *

Kate wrinkles her nose at the bitterness of her coffee. The brew Castle makes is better — a lot better. The stuff she gets out of the machine he bought for the precinct is a lot better too, but Montgomery won't allow her back in until the lab finishes its work. She startles at the sound of a knock. As soon as she opens her door, Castle extends a large container from Java Hut. I thought you might like this, but," he says, regarding the drink in her hand, "but maybe you don't need it."

Kate grabs his offering. "Oh, I do, Babe." She indicates her mug. "This is almost as bad as what we used to have in the precinct."

"I noticed when I was here before that your filter is broken. You could use a less grungy carafe too. We can take care of that. But it would help if you let me in."

Kate steps aside. "Sorry, Castle, of course."

"Any word from Montgomery?"

"Only that the lab hasn't got anything yet, and I'm forbidden to go near the station until they do."

"So, what's your plan? Ooh, I seem to be asking you that a lot."

"I don't know, Castle. When you knocked, I was still trying to think of something to tell Montgomery so I can get back to work at the 12th."

"What about being able to get to work somewhere other than the 12th?" Castle inquires, pulling a flyer out of his pocket.

"What's that?"

"I found it in the lobby of my building this morning. It's part of Bracken's campaign. He's soliciting help at his campaign headquarters. This thing says he will be dropping in to talk to the volunteers this afternoon. I figure we could go sign up, stuff a few envelopes, see who comes in and out, and try to pick up anything whispered in corners."

Kate chokes, barely avoiding spritzing Rick with coffee. "Castle, you aren't seriously suggesting we work to reelect that monster."

"Of course not, Kate. In fact, if we get the chance, we could even try to sabotage his efforts, swipe his buttons or something. But I was thinking that if he wanted to talk to someone in New York without raising suspicions, a gathering at his campaign office would be as good a time as any. Chance favors the prepared mind."

"Einstein?" Kate wonders.

"Louis Pasteur," Rick corrects, "but it applies. We could overhear something useful. And even if we don't, we might have a chance to screw Bracken, and I don't mean that in a nice way."

Kate snorts, shaking her head. "God, I'd hope not."

"Don't take his name in vain," Johanna scolds. "He really doesn't like it."

"Anyway," Kate continues, "spying on Bracken's campaign is as good a way to spend the day as any."

Castle wiggles his eyebrows. "I might dispute that. But maybe we can get to other things later."

Kate's lips hint at a smile. "Maybe we can."

* * *

"Looks like Bracken or whoever is managing his campaign put some thought into locating this place," Castle notes surveying the Bracken campaign storefront in the gentrified area near Columbia University. "Bracken can pull in the young professionals who are upset by Bracken's phony concern for the environment and free labor from Columbia students. Smart."

"I don't think they'll get much free labor right now," Kate points out. "The students are going to want to wind up their work before spring break. Or at least a lot of the students I went to NYU with did this time of year."

"Not you." Castle guesses.

"I wasn't much in the mood for celebrating, especially not my first spring after Coonan murdered my mother."

"Sorry, Kate." Johanna murmurs. "Taking my life should never have meant taking yours."

"If the students are gone, that's good for us, right?" Castle guesses. "A couple of extra pairs of hands should be welcomed with open arms."

Kate starts toward the door of the campaign headquarters. "We'll find out."

* * *

A perky blond looks up from a desk as Rick and Kate come in. "Can I help you?"

Rick flashes his most ingratiating smile. "I was hoping we could help you."

"We want to volunteer," Kate adds.

The blonde bounces out of her chair. "Fabulous! How are you with computers?"

"We're not bad.," Rick replies. "I use them to promote my work, and Kate here does a lot of online research."

"Outstanding! Oh, I'm Judy Leland, by the way. I manage volunteers in this office. We're working on revamping our mailing list. We've been keeping track of you know who's supporters on social media, and we don't want to waste time or money on them. We don't need them knowing our strategy either. We're going after the undecideds. What I need you to do is go through the list of names we've flagged and drop them from future mailings and email blasts. Can you do that?"

Rick extends his hand. "We'd love to."


	30. Chapter 30

Guardian Angel

Chapter 30

"Is this Karma or what?" Castle whispers as he and Kate settle into side-by-side workstations. "The possibilities for what we could do to Bracken's list are almost endless."

"So are the possibilities for getting caught if Judy checks on what we're doing," Kate reminds him.

"You're right," Castle acknowledges. "We don't want anything that will show up until after we're done. I'm going to text Izzy. He hasn't failed us so far. If anyone can figure out how to plant an anti-Bracken bomb, he can."

Kate grins. "I love it, Babe, but Judy is looking this way. You'd better wait until she's distracted with something."

"If the bastard himself is planning a visit, that shouldn't be long," Castle figures.

* * *

Bracken likes visiting with his volunteers almost as much as he loves rallies. Either way, he gets to bask in the adoration. The stupid sheep are being fleeced, and they don't even know it, but that just makes the game more fun.

Before he talks to his sycophants, he'll need to conduct some business. He has a meeting with an emissary from Simmons' operation. The cash flow has been diminishing lately, something he needs to remedy. He'll have a meet with one of his sources in the N.Y.P.D., too. The ambitious little jerk is tying himself to Bracken's coattails. Right now, he's useful, and Bracken can put up with him. If he stops being of use, he might provide Maddox with some fun. Bracken's willing to bet the bureaucratic turd will let out satisfying pleas and screams. He checks his watch. He's supposed to be giving his pep talk to his supporters at 4 p.m. If he makes it to N.Y.C. headquarters by two, things will work out just about right.

* * *

A volunteer wearing a LABA hat slams a pile of posters on Judy's desk. "The cops wouldn't let me put these up. They said I need a permit."

"Castle, what's LABA?" Kate whispers.

"According to the flyer I found, it stands for 'Let America Breathe Again,' part of the antipollution plan that Bracken put out. I did a quick check on my phone while I was waiting for the barista to make your coffee this morning. The whole thing is a sham. Bracken's most significant contributors to the program are the Toch brothers, some of the biggest polluters around. Bracken is coming down on their competitors while claiming to clean up the planet. Nice, huh?" Castle shakes his head. "He has a lot of well-meaning environmentally conscious citizens supporting his efforts. The unhappy young woman complaining to Judy is probably one of them."

Judy's picking up her phone," Kate notes. "I wonder if a fix is supposed to be in somewhere and someone didn't get the memo. Bracken must be slipping."

"Well, if he is, that's good for us, right? Hmm, I think you hit it on the head. LABA hat is picking up her posters and heading out again. Looks like Bracken has low guys in high places. With some luck, we might find out who some of them are."

Kate's teeth dig into her bottom lip. "I hope so."

* * *

Earle Stanley Sledge slams down the receiver on his landline. He'd put out the word that Bracken's people, even the nutcases with the LABA hats, were to be left alone. Someone didn't get the message or didn't care. He'll get the names of the officers involved. Whoever didn't get with the program will find their feet stuck on whatever low rung of the ladder they currently occupy.

A text dings on Sledge's private cell. Bracken wants a meeting uptown at two that afternoon. Sledge isn't fond of command performances, but with Bracken, they're a necessary evil. The asshole always has to feel like he has his fingers in everything, so Sledge keeps him updated just enough, while he builds his own little kingdom. When the time comes, he'll no longer need Bracken. He only has to keep catering to the man's outsize ego until that day arrives.

* * *

Spontaneous applause breaks out in Bracken's headquarters as Judy opens the door for a pizza delivery woman. Castle presses his palm to his abdomen. "I was about to ask about food. Looks like it's here. Federico's, not bad. They use fresh basil. If nothing else, we'll have lunch on Bracken. I like it!"

"Yeah," Kate agrees, "me too."

* * *

Kate feels like throwing up her pepperoni when Judy Leland signals to everyone in the bullpen of the campaign office to stand up and clap as Bracken comes through the door. At a nudge from Rick, she fixes a smile on her face, now half obscured by the bill of a LABA cap. Castle, similarly attired, is clapping and whistling.

Bracken smiles broadly, giving a generalized wave, before retreating to a back room. His Rolex reads 1:55. Sledge should be showing up any minute. Sledge better be showing up any minute.

Kate studies the face of the man who comes through the door a few minutes after Bracken. He looks familiar. Right, Sledge. He was a few years ahead of her in the academy. His photo was on display in the trophy case, not for high scores in marksmanship or anything physical, but as the only cadet never to make an error concerning the rules of N.Y.P.D. bureaucracy. The sergeant who's still training every cadet in New York predicted that Sledge would end up riding a desk. As usual, he was right. Sledge is a climber at 1PP and supposedly moving up fast. Could he be looking at Bracken as his key to an even faster ascent, or is Bracken using Sledge? Both could be true. "Castle, that guy's a cop. See if you can sneak a picture of him meeting with Bracken," she whispers.

Rick pulls his phone out of his pocket. "You think he's dirty?" he whispers back.

"I don't know, but he could be one of Bracken's conduits for information on the department. And he's high enough up for that to be trouble."

"What do you know about a suspect named Dick Coonan?" Bracken demands before Sledge can even take a seat.

"That a cop from the 12th named Kate Beckett is claiming he's a serial killer and her captain, Roy Montgomery, is trying to get Lou Karnacki to deal for information on someone bigger. Last I heard, Karnacki didn't have enough evidence to convince him Coonan's worth the effort. That puts things in a holding pattern for at least another day or two."

"So Coonan's lawyer hasn't made a proffer?"

"Not that I've heard. Some of the guys at 1PP think Beckett and Montgomery are making a big deal out of nothing because Coonan went after Beckett and a writer named Richard Castle, who shadows her. I think the brass is more concerned with the bad P.R. the N.Y.P.D. might get if Castle slams it, than with nailing Coonan for attacking a cop. And if Beckett is right about Coonan being a serial killer, the force will be painted as idiots for letting a murderer run around loose in the city. That's making the commissioner sweat."

"But so far, Karnacki isn't taking Beckett's claims seriously?" Bracken presses.

"Not so far as I've heard. But that could change. C.S.U. is supposed to be working up some evidence, but the case isn't on the fast track."

Bracken nods. "That particular train may just get derailed. Accidents happen."

Sledge raises his hands, shaking his head. "I don't want to know anything about that."

"You won't," Bracken assures him. "Just go back to 1PP and shuffle your papers."


	31. Chapter 31

Guardian Angel

Chapter 31

Johanna stares with alarm at a man entering the Bracken campaign storefront not long after Sledge departs. "Kate, I recognize him. He was one of Vulcan Simmons' dealers. I saw him on the street selling to school kids."

"From the look of things, he's moved up in the world," Kate mutters.

"What?" Castle asks.

"The man coming in has an expensive suit on," Kate covers.

"Campaign contributor, maybe," Castle ponders. "But he doesn't look like he'd move in Toch brother circles. Their followers tend to run toward much lighter pigmentation." Castle picks up his cell, which he laid on the desk next to him after capturing Sledge with Bracken. "Maybe I can run image comparisons again unless you think Montgomery will let you run facial recognition."

"Just check with Narcotics, Kate," Johanna urges. "Even if they couldn't nail him, they should know who he is."

Kate nods. "Try to get a picture, Babe. I can send it to Ryan and Esposito. One of their contacts might recognize him."

"Good thought," Castle agrees. "Hey, the candidate doesn't look too happy to see him, and vice versa. Trouble in Brackenland?"

"I hope so," Kate replies. "If he's distracted, it will just make things easier."

"He'll be distracted all right," Castle asserts. "I can't make out the words, but there is some sound coming through the door, and it's not joyous laughter."

"Good," Johanna mutters.

* * *

Still hiding beneath his LABA hat, Castle snaps a picture unnoticed as Bracken's visitor strides out.

"I need everyone's attention," Judy shouts from the front of the room as a stream of LABA hat wearers flows into the office. "Your man and mine, William Bracken, will be addressing us shortly." She indicates the direction of a makeshift podium. "I want those of you who've worked for the campaign the longest in the front so that he can thank you. Newcomers toward the back, please, and everyone make sure you're wearing your hats. Let's get organized, people."

"This should work out," Kate whispers. "If there were any chance he'd recognize us, being behind everyone should make it impossible."

"I doubt he'd notice us anyway, Kate. I don't know if hiding under the hats mattered," Castle whispers back. "He barely glanced at us or any of the other campaign workers. He's a sociopath. Everyone here is just a tool, like a hammer or a toaster. He doesn't care about people, except what they can do for him."

"Narcissistic creep," Johanna spits out.

"Still, Castle," Kate advises, "let's stay out of his line of vision."

"Roger that."

Applause echoes off the walls as Bracken takes his spot and raises his hands to quiet the crowd. "You are the important ones here. You talk to your neighbors. You hand out the flyers. You wear your hats, and you post on social media. You are the ones who get the new ideas out there. You are the ones who are going to clean up the planet. You are the ones who will make this campaign a success. I'll just get to climb onstage and take the bow. So now, I want you, all of you, to take a bow. Come on, Judy will show you how it's done."

With an embarrassed smile, Judy sidles up next to Bracken and bows. "Do it again, Bracken urges, "and this time, all of you do it with her!" The bills of LABA hats waving like flags, the heads in the room bob up and down while Bracken applauds. "That's great!" Bracken exclaims. "You humble me and make me want to work that much harder for you. So, have a great day and a great campaign, and I'll see you soon."

With the enthusiastic campaigners cheering wildly, Judy ushers Bracken out the door and into a waiting limousine. "You know," Castle whispers to Kate as they slowly slip away from the noisy admirers, the man is good at this, really good. If I didn't know better, I'd be anxious to vote for him."

"He's too good," Kate replies. "He's been twisting this city to his purposes for years."

"He's a monster, Kate," Johanna declares. "And you have to take him down."

As the excitement slowly wanes, the campaign staff return to their work and Rick and Kate go back to their computers. Rick leans close to Kate. "I hope Izzy gets back to us soon. I've only got a couple of hours at most, of work left on my list, and I'm not about to do Bracken any favors."

"Me either," Kate agrees as Castle's phone slowly dings a text.

Castle softly blows out a breath. "This is it! Izzy sent me instructions to hack my way into the innards of this thing, so I can send him the info he needs to download a file. It doesn't look too hard to do." Castle's fingers fly over the keys. "Wow, I'm seeing just what he told me I'd see. I just have to type this code into my phone right."

"You better turn off your autocorrect first, before your phone screws everything up," Kate cautions."

"Ooh, you're right. You wouldn't believe some of the things … maybe you would. Anyway, that's got it. Typing it in, now." Castle pushes back his LABA hat as he swipes the back of his hand across his forehead. "There, that's got it. Sending. I'll just have to signal Izzy when we leave, so we're not around when he pulls the trigger."

"Good. What are you going to have to pay him this time?"

"Nothing. He hates the Toch brothers with a passion. They did a hostile takeover of a company some of Izzy's friends gave their hearts and souls to build. Once I told him we wanted to screw with Bracken, he was all in. I just wish we could be around to watch whatever happens when Izzy sets off his bomb. He said something about a systemwide screen of death."

"Castle, once we get enough on Coonan for Karnacki to flip him, Bracken will think massive computer failure is a walk in the park."

"From your mouth to The Father's ears, Katie-girl," Johanna declares.

* * *

Kate pulls off her LABA hat as soon as she and Castle are far from enough Bracken headquarters to be out of the sight of the campaign staff. "I can't wait to get rid of this thing. Where's a dumpster when you really need one?"

Castle points to a nearby Chinese restaurant. "There's probably one behind that place, but it would seem that the occasion calls for something more ceremonial than a simple toss in the trash."

"What did you have in mind, Castle?" Kate wonders.

Rick strokes the shadow forming on his jawline. "Nothing specific yet. Burning our hats would be unimaginative, not to mention polluting. Maybe we could use them to make giant voodoo dolls. We could stick pins in one and hang the other in effigy, or perhaps embed them in plastic to create seats for commodes. Maybe we could use them as dartboards at the giant party I'm going throw when Bracken is led off in shackles, or put them on pikes and throw rotten tomatoes at them. Proper utilization of talismans is too important to execute on the spur of the moment. I'll have to think about it for a while. "

Kate smothers a laugh. "Castle, I think you're flashing back to 'Hell Hath No Fury' and that black magic ceremony you dreamed up."

"You may have a point," Castle concedes. "Let's just hang on to the evil one's headgear for a while. I'll come up with something."

"I'm sure he will," Johanna remarks. "And it will be good."


	32. Chapter 32

Guardian Angel

Chapter 32

"Coming back to the loft with me?" Castle inquires. "I thought I'd run image matching on Bracken's well-dressed friend, at least until the boys come up with something. And Alexis is probably already there. All she had this afternoon was Physics Club, and it doesn't usually run long."

"Is there an extracurricular activity she doesn't participate in, Castle?"

"Cheerleading. She tried it out for a while and discovered that it interfered with both French Club and fencing. Good riddance, as far as I'm concerned. Have you seen how short the skirts are on girls' cheerleading uniforms?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "Castle, I never would have taken you for a prude."

"I'm not. If an adult woman chooses to strut her stuff, I'm pleased to enjoy it. But I remember all too well what goes through the mind of a teenage boy, and I don't want my daughter being the object of hormonally charged lust."

"He has a point, Kate," Johanna interjects. "Your father felt the same way about some of the things you wore. And I was involved with cases where some asshole teenage boy believed he had the right to assault a girl because he thought what she was wearing was provocative. I'm sure the N.Y.P.D. has coped with too many of them. Rick may be going a little overboard, but there's nothing wrong with a father wanting to protect his daughter."

"That is kind of sweet," Kate responds.

Castle presses a quick kiss to her temple. "I'm glad you understand. Anyway, since we have time, I thought I could make a sit-down dinner. How do you feel about stroganoff?"

"Love it!"

"Good. We can stop on the way to pick up some sour cream, and we'll be all set."

* * *

Castle could only describe the way Kate stretches in her chair as they finish dinner as feline. If Alexis weren't there, he'd consider rubbing the detective in a spot that would elicit a purr. Maybe he can get to that later, after his daughter retires to her room to study. Anyway, it's time to check his image matching program for results. Something could have popped while they were eating, or the process could grind on for hours. In a way, he's hoping for the latter, as it will give Kate an excuse to linger.

After loading the dishwasher, Rick checks his laptop. Images continue to flit across the screen. He sets an alert to sound if the program finds a match, something he didn't want to happen during dinner. Kate joins him, leaning her chin on his shoulder as he bends over the screen. Nothing yet?"

"No. I could turn on the T.V. while we wait. It's almost time for 'Jeopardy.'"

Kate wraps her arms around his waist. "The way you love strange factoids, I should have known you'd be a fan. Sure. I like Alex Trebek."

"You have a thing for older men?" Castle queries.

Kate moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue. "It depends on how well they know the answers."

"But," Castle points out, pulling her closer, "the game depends on asking the right questions."

* * *

"How could they not remember the father and son Deckers, who both took a turn at commanding the Enterprise?" Castle groans as two out of three contestants miss the "Final Jeopardy" question.

"I'm with Rick," Johanna inserts.

Kate shakes her head. "Not everyone is a Trekkie, even on 'Jeopardy.' Personally, I thought Nebula Nine…"

An alarm blares from Castle's pocket. "Ooh! I set that to alert me of any news stories about cyber-attacks. That could be about what Izzy did to Bracken's network." He holds up his phone, so Kate can see, as he touches the screen. "Yes! This is from Z.N.N. 'Unknown cyber attacker shuts down every computer connected to the campaign of William Bracken. As yet, no one has claimed responsibility for the breach.' The rest is P.R. boilerplate." Rick grabs the remote control. "There's probably more on the live broadcast."

A young correspondent reporting from Bracken headquarters holds a microphone in one hand and points to the message displayed on a screen with the other. "Toch toady! Hah!" Castle exclaims. "Izzy is getting his message out there. Good for him!"

"Archangel Michael would like Izzy," Johanna muses. "In his way, he's quite a warrior."

"Screwed up computers should keep Bracken distracted," Kate figures. "That's good for us."

Castle shoves his phone back in his pocket and turns off the TV. "This calls for a celebration," he announces. "Red, white, or Champagne?"

"Babe, I think we ought to save the Champagne for when we get Coonan to flip, but I wouldn't mind a glass of red," Kate responds.

Castle grins, rubbing his hands together. "Absolutely. Coming right up."

* * *

Maddox drums his fingers on his steering wheel. He isn't expecting a prisoner transfer this late, but anything is possible. At least Bracken isn't breathing down his neck. From the blurb he saw pop up on his newsfeed, the bigshot has other problems, and damage control should keep him busy for a day or two. Cole decides to call it a night. With any luck, he'll finish his mission before Bracken gets too worried about it. Who would have thought that foot-dragging by the N.Y.P.D. or the D.A. would pose a problem? Usually, it's a positive. It doesn't matter. Cole makes it his business to prepare for any eventuality. If he didn't, he would have been dead long ago.

* * *

"Found it!" Castle's computer proclaims as Rick takes the last sip of his wine.

"It that for Bracken's mystery man?" Kate asks, putting her glass on the coffee table.

Rick pushes up from the couch. "If the program is working right. Let's see what it found."

"He looks younger," Kate notes, studying the image displayed on the screen of Rick's laptop.

"Uh-huh," Castle agrees. "That pic says it's from a basketball team posting. It must have been taken years ago, but stuff like that stays on the web forever. The app would check biometrics, the distance between the subject's eyes, and so forth. His age shouldn't matter much unless he was in an accident or had extensive plastic surgery."

Kate reads the small print on the caption. "It says his name is Darnell Brown, not exactly uncommon."

"But he is a Darnell Brown who played basketball and was apparently good at it. There should be more references to him, a school, a neighborhood, something. We can look at other team members too. We'll track him down," Castle declares.

Smiling, Kate threads her fingers through his hair. "You know, Castle, you're getting pretty good at this."

"Kate, I've had to study crime-solving techniques for years to write about them. The research librarians at the main branch and I are all on a first-name basis. One of them adopted me as her honorary grandson. Now I'm getting to put what I learned into action. It feels good."

"It feels good to do it with you," Kate confides.

Rick kicks his chair back from his desk and pulls Kate into his lap. "Yeah? What else would feel good, Detective?"

How about if we discuss that after we find out more about Darnell Brown?"

You are a dedicated woman, Kate Beckett," Castle sighs, waving his hand at his keyboard. "You want to run the search, or should I?"

"You've been doing great so far. But," Kate proposes, brushing her lips across his, "I can give you a taste of what can come later."

"Then perhaps you'd better get up," Castle suggests regretfully. "I want to type as fast as I can, the sooner to get to more engaging endeavors.


	33. Chapter 33

Guardian Angel

Chapter 33

"Darnell Brown is from Washington Heights," Castle announces, "or at least that's where he grew up. A few articles predicted that he'd win a basketball scholarship, but that crashed and burned. I found a couple of lines in the New York Patch about the promising athlete being arrested for dealing drugs."

Johanna's eyes flash. "Vulcan Simmons must have gotten his hooks into him."

"Vulcan Simmons," Kate repeats.

"The blurb doesn't mention him, but it would make sense," Castle agrees. "Simmons probably tagged Darnell to act as his messenger to Bracken."

"The sh*t didn't want to take the heat himself." Johanna spits out.

"Then if we tie Darnell to Simmons, that ties Simmons to Bracken," Kate realizes.

Castle bobs his head enthusiastically. "Right! Which will provide further backup to anything Coonan gives up. The noose is tightening, Kate."

"Let's just hope no one cuts the rope, Babe."

* * *

"In the vain hope of not waking Evelyn, Roy Montgomery fumbles for his buzzing phone in the dim light of early morning. "What?"

"Sorry I woke you, Captain," Carl apologizes, "but I have some results on the Coonan case. They're not complete, but I thought you'd want to hear them."

Roy throws his feet over the side of the bed and strides barefoot into a corner of the room. "I'm listening."

"So far, we have matches on DNA from three different sources. One is a maternal match to your detective, Kate Beckett."

"That would be Johanna Beckett," Montgomery concludes. "Who else?"

"Familial matches to two other victims on the list we got from Clark Murray: Diane Cavanaugh and Jennifer Stewart. Their DNA was deepest under the hilt and best protected from oxidation. We'll continue working on the rest."

"That's great, Carl, Thank you."

"Just make sure the D.A. nails the bastard, Montgomery." Carl urges.

"I intend to, Chief," Montgomery declares.

Roy considers calling Kate with the news but decides it will be better to give it to her face-to-face. She might also have an easier time if Castle is with her. The vibes between those two were picking up big-time before Roy sent Beckett home."

* * *

Ryan intercepts Kate and Castle on their way to Montgomery's office. "Beckett, I heard back from the guys in Narcotics. They suspect Darnell Brown is a high line dealer, but they've never been able to bust him. They think he streets the lower downs and lets them take the heat whenever there's a sweep. His stuff flows out of Washington Heights, which would connect him to Vulcan Simmons."

"Thanks, Ryan. That confirms some things Castle and I came up with, but Montgomery wanted to see Castle and me as soon as we could get here."

"It has to be something big," Ryan offers. "I don't think he's sat down since he got in this morning. He's just been wearing a track in his office."

Castle takes a deep breath. "We're about to find out."

Montgomery gestures toward the couch. "Sit down, Beckett. You too, Castle. Look, Kate, what I'm going to tell you won't come as a surprise, but it's still going to hurt. The knife CSU found under Coonan's pillow, killed your mother and two of the others Murray identified."

Castle reaches for Kate's hand, not flinching beneath the desperate grasp of her slim fingers. "So, what now, Sir?" Kate asks, trying to suppress the tremor in her voice.

"I'll be calling Karnacki, to set up the meet with Coonan and Adelson. I wanted to give you the heads up first, and Lou will just be getting into his office about now. I'll let you know the details as soon as we have them set. You and Castle can go get a cup of that great coffee we have now, and I'll let you know when everything is lined up."

"Sir, is it possible I could sit in on the call?" Kate queries.

"Not a good idea, Beckett. You're too emotionally involved."

"Come on, Kate," Castle urges.

"Go with Rick, Katie-girl," Johanna adds.

"I'll get Karnacki down here as fast as I can," Montgomery promises.

* * *

Nausea rises in Kate's throat at Coonan's triumphant smirk as he's led into the room where Adelson and Karnacki wait. Karnacki's watery blue eyes capture Adelson's gaze. "All right, Counselor, I'm here to receive your proffer, and it better be damn good."

"It is," Adelson assures him. "Mr. Coonan's crimes were committed at the behest of a high government official, and he has the documentation to back it up."

"I've seen the case file. There was nothing implicating anyone but your client found at either his office or his apartment."

"That's because it's in the cloud, with a backup on a drive in a location known only to me," Coonan retorts.

"And does this 'high government official,' have a name?" Karnacki questions.

"An extremely well-known one," Adelson replies, "which my client will give you once we have a deal."

"You realize that any deal will hinge on every iota of what your client reveals, proving to be the truth. If he lies about anything, any detail at all, no breaks of any kind," Karnacki warns. "He'll spend the rest of his life in Attica — if you can call that a life."

"I won't have to lie, I have the goods," Coonan insists.

"This deal will make your career, Karnacki. You could use it as a springboard to the governorship," Adelson asserts.

Karnacki snorts. "I don't need a boost from a serial killer. But I will put together an offer that will hinge on your client delivering what you say he will. And I'll have him transferred to the Tombs, so however this works out, he'll be ready for arraignment."

"Anyone could get to him at the Tombs," Adelson protests.

"Which would be no loss to this world," Karnacki returns. "I'll have a deal ready to sign by 5 p.m. Your client better be ready to come clean."

Castle watches Kate as her eyes follow Coonan being led back to his cell. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know. There's still a long way to go. I hope Karnacki puts together something that doesn't let Coonan completely off the hook. Whether he killed my mother and the others for Bracken or not, he still killed them. He should pay for that."

Castle draws Kate against his side. "I know."

* * *

Maddox feels a frisson of arousal as he watches a vehicle pull up to the 12th Precinct. He's seen it before, picking up prisoners for transfer. If they're coming for Coonan, this could be his chance. He knows the route the transport will take and has everything in place. When the vehicle halts at the stop sign six blocks after it exits the precinct lot, all Maddox will have to do is touch an icon on his phone to activate a bomb.

With any luck, Coonan may take a few minutes to bleed out from blown off limbs. If Cole gets close enough, he can record the screams of pain. When he gets back to his quarters, he'll enjoy the inevitable release they'll bring. That will be almost as good as collecting his fee. If Coonan is coming out, it won't be long now. Maddox watches as the tall shackled figure emerges from the building between two uniformed officers, with two more trailing behind. Finally, Cole's prey is in sight. He follows the official vehicle closely, but not too closely. The blast will be massive enough to throw off shrapnel. Maddox can feel himself getting hard. Two more blocks. Almost there.


	34. Chapter 34

Guardian Angel

Chapter 34

As the prisoner transport vehicle comes to a stop half a block ahead, Maddox swipes his detonator icon, bracing himself for the shock of an explosion that doesn't come. What the f**k! He'd checked the device before staking out the precinct that morning. It was perfect. Could the police have found it? If the lab could trace any of it to him… He has to find out what went wrong.

Cole pulls into the lot of a nearby laundromat and rapidly covers the ground to where he'd planted his bomb. As he nears it, he hears rustling. Rats are swarming around fast food bags that someone must have thrown out of a car. Could the vermin have loosened a wire on his device? He doesn't think that… The asphalt buckles under the force of the blast. He'll never think of anything again.

* * *

As Lanie examines what's left of Maddox, Kate surveys the scene. "Why would anyone want to set off a bomb here?"

"It wasn't that long after the cops transferring Coonan picked him up that we heard the explosion," Castle recalls. "Could this guy have been after him?"

Lanie turns from the mangled body. "If he was, he really screwed up. At least he is the only body unless you count a bunch of rat parts."

"Not a recommended method of extermination," Castle comments.

"Can you get an I.D., Lanie?" Kate asks.

"Uh-huh. A couple of the fingertips look intact enough to at least get a partial. And we might get a match to his DNA if it's on file."

"There's no traffic cam at the stop sign," Ryan notes, "but there are a couple at the nearest lights. If he drove a car here, we might be able to figure out where he was coming from."

"Good, you get on that," Beckett instructs. "And Esposito, get some unis and start canvassing."

Kate turns to Castle, catching his grin. "What are you smiling at?"

"You're back to you, digging your teeth into this and tearing away."

The corners of Kate's lips fight their way upward. "Yeah, I guess I am. Babe, if you're right about this guy being after Coonan, it will give us another link to Bracken."

Rick holds up crossed fingers.

* * *

With Castle close behind, Kate rushes into medical examiner domain. "What have you got, Lanie?"

"Our victim's fingerprints were a match to a Cedric Marks who was reported killed in action in Afghanistan."

"Unless a Dr. Frankenstein shot him full of juice, earlier reports of his death must have been exaggerated," Castle quips.

"He must have faked it somehow," Kate concludes.

"Right," Lanie agrees, "because we also got a match to a Cole Maddox. He had to give his prints to get a Georgia driver's license two years ago."

"Was that before or after he was reported killed in Afghanistan?" Kate asks.

"After," Lanie replies.

"So he comes back to the states and picks up a new identity, probably stolen," Castle figures.

"And if we're lucky, he was still using it," Kate continues. "Anything else, Lanie?"

"He was pretty blown up. Most of his organs were almost shredded, but it does look like at the time of his death, he had considerable blood in his corpora cavernosa."

Castle snickers. "You mean he had a hard-on?"

Lanie's eyes narrow at Rick. "I'm not sure if I should give you a gold star or a demerit, writer-boy, but yes."

"So," Castle recounts, "we have a victim who rose from the dead, operated under an alias and got his jollies from planning to blow people up."

"That's not the way it's going to appear in my report, Castle," Lanie responds, "but that's probably pretty close to the truth."

"There couldn't have been too many men fitting that description in New York." Kate assumes.

Johanna gazes upward. "The Father willing."

* * *

Ryan waves across the bullpen as Kate and Rick get off the elevator. "I got something off the traffic cam. A rental car passed the light a couple of minutes before the explosion, then parked in front of a Sudsy-Spin. It's still there. The unis checked, no driver washing clothes or anywhere around. The rental company says it leased the car to a Cole Maddox. The clerk got a credit card and a cellphone number. The phone's offline."

"CSU will probably find a zillion pieces of it," Castle guesses.

"We'll order the transactions on that card and any other financials for Cole Maddox," Kate declares.

"And oh," Ryan adds, "I heard from a buddy in Narcotics. Business in Washington Heights is picking up."

"Someone lit a fire under Vulcan Simmons," Castle assumes.

"And I think we know who," Kate agrees.

"How long do you think it will take to get that stuff?" Castle wonders, after Kate puts in her request for data on Maddox.

"A couple of hours if we're lucky. Maybe more. At this moment, Maddox is a victim, not a perp, so he doesn't take priority."

"Anything else we can do in the meantime?" Castle queries.

"Not much. We could go question people in the area of the explosion, but Espo already has a team doing that."

"How about reviewing the traffic video from around the blast site, maybe from a couple of days back."

"What would we be looking for, Castle?"

"Maddox's rental car. If he were after Coonan, he would have planted that bomb sometime after you busted Coonan. Probably, pretty soon after. He wouldn't have known you'd hold a guy who was caught red-handed attacking a cop as long as you did. If Maddox wasn't there, then we'll be looking for another bomber. But if he was, it could be another line to Bracken."

"You have a point, Babe, but that's going to be a lot of video."

"I could make popcorn," Castle offers.

"How about ordering Chinese?" Kate counters.

"You've got it!"

* * *

Castle points excitedly at the screen. "That's the car, Maddox's rental!"

Kate checks the timestamp. "It tracks, Castle. That's the day after we nailed Coonan. Bracken must have called him in to take Coonan out."

"Detective Beckett," L.T. calls, "those financials you've been waiting for just came in."

Castle rubs his hands together. "The timing couldn't be more perfect!"

* * *

"Not the Golden Bowl but not bad," Castle remarks, gazing around Maddox's final abode. "Contract killing must pay well — except for this last time, of course."

Kate strides impatiently around the room. "Never mind the room rate; we need to look for anything that will tie Maddox to Coonan or Bracken."

"On it," Rick replies, slipping into the attached bath.

"What are you looking for in there, Castle?" Kate asks.

"The mystery writers' oldie but goodie, something in the tank of the toilet. Usually, it's in stories about drugs, but you never know. I don't suppose you have an extra pair of gloves on you?"

Kate digs in her pocket. "Here."

Rick gloves up before checking the hackneyed hiding place. "Hey, Beckett, what do you know?" He pulls out a tightly sealed plastic box containing a USB drive. "Given Maddox's proclivities, I'm not sure whether I'm anxious or scared to see what's on this."

"I'm not about to stick that in my computer. Especially given where it's been." Kate remarks. 'We'll take it to Tech and see what they find." Rick drops the box with the drive into an evidence bag Kate holds open. She checks her watch. "Babe, it's about the time for Karnacki to be proposing his deal to Coonan - if he hasn't done it already. We should hear something soon."

Rick strips off his hand-coverings. "A cornucopia of revelations awaits us."


	35. Chapter 35

Guardian Angel

Chapter 35

"I've got something I need you to check out right away," Kate announces, walking into the Tech room off the bullpen.

"Anything I need to know besides what's on the evidence bag?" Tech Wong inquires.

"You might want to make sure that it's dry before you start working with it," Castle cautions.

"Uh-huh," Wong drawls. "Any idea what I'm looking for?"

"Names, dates," Kate responds.

"And run a character string search for uppercase B, lowercase r, a,c,k,e,n," Castle suggests.

Wong regards Kate, who nods. "Yeah, do that. And Wong, try to put it at the top of the queue."

"There's a case of Red Hots in it for you if you do," Castle adds.

Wong flashes an uncharacteristic grin. "On it right now."

Kate gives Castle a quizzical look as they return to her desk. "Red Hots, Castle?"

"Kate, I'm surprised the master detective hasn't noted our electronic sleuth's consumption of that particular spicy treat. He eats them constantly, probably because he can't take anything that would make crumbs into Tech with him. You can smell the cinnamon in the elevator after he's been there. The vendor I get my movie night candy from carries them. I can get them for him overnight."

"Castle, sometimes I wonder if you ever grew up and — oh! Montgomery's waving for us to come into his office."

"Think he's heard from Karnacki?" Castle wonders.

"I hope so."

Standing in front of his chair, Montgomery leans heavily on his desk. "Beckett, Coonan accepted Karnacki's deal, but I don't think you're going to like it much."

Kate's fingernails dig into her palms. "He's giving him WITSEC?"

Montgomery shakes his head. "Not quite that bad. He'll be going to prison, but on the charge of attempted homicide only. Karnacki will be recommending a medium-security facility. Coonan could be out in 20 years."

"Or serve life, right?" Kate demands.

"Life would be the maximum, but if Karnacki gets enough out of Coonan to convict Bracken, he'll recommend 20, which is the minimum. Kate, it still would be up to the judge. And if Coonan tries to shine Karnacki on, all the murders we can tie to his knife get added to the charges, and the sonofabitch spends the rest of his life in a hole."

"What about if we find evidence against Bracken that can convict him without help from Coonan?" Castle wonders.

"If anything you find contradicts Coonan's story in any way, Karnacki withdraws the deal, and Coonan gets what's coming to him."

Kate closes her eyes, shaking her head. "Coonan couldn't live long enough to get what's coming to him. But if what we suspect about our bombing victim pans out, we may have a chance at seeing he gets as much as the system can throw at him."

* * *

"Your shift is over. Ready to go?" Castle asks as he and Kate return to the bullpen.

Kate shrugs. "I guess. CSU is still running analyses on the knife, and Karnacki's people will be working through what Coonan tells them about Bracken. I suppose until Wong figures out what's on that drive, I'm done."

"You want to come to the loft with me?'

"Might as well. I'll go crazy sitting in my apartment."

"You might go a little crazy at the loft, too. Mother has some thespian hopefuls she's been ushering along coming over to work on a scene to showcase their skills."

Kate takes Rick's arm. "That sounds like it might be fun. My friend Maddie and I were in the drama club at Stuy. We worked on scenes together and had a good time. I did cosplay when I was at Stanford too."

Joyous crinkles fan from Rick's eyes. "I wouldn't have figured that. Who did you dress up as?"

Heat suffuses Kate's face. "Lieutenant Chloe."

"Lieutenant Chloe from Nebula Nine?"

Kate nods mutely.

"I never would have pictured that," Castle admits, "although you certainly have the legs for it. The skirts on Nebula Nine were even shorter than the ones on the original Star Trek. But I would have thought you would have chosen something with higher production values — and less cheesy dialogue."

Kate's eyes flash. "Higher production values? Castle, Star Trek used salt shakers for Dr. McCoy's instruments. Anyway, Nebula Nine was about youth having to step up and meet a challenge. I don't care if the dialogue was cheesy. Chloe could be a scientist, a warrior, anything she wanted, and she didn't care what anyone else thought — except maybe for Captain Max. Sometimes I cared way too much about what other people thought, and I needed to see that kind of independence. Then after my mom died, I needed it even more. I figured if the cadets on Nebula Nine could get through anything, I could do the same at the police academy and as a cop. I still have a couple of Lt. Chloe outfits in my closet."

"And I bet they look wonderful on you," Castle soothes. "We all have our needs. As I'm sure, do Mother's protégés. Tell you what. Let's stop at the deli on the way to the loft a pick up a spread we can share with the inevitably starving artists. Then we can be the world's most supportive audience. Mother might even want us to read a role or two. Sound good?"

The flush fades from Kate's features. "Yeah, it does."

* * *

"What do you mean, Maddox is dead?" Bracken explodes.

Sledge shrinks from the phone. "My sources tell me that he blew himself up. Probably trying to take out Coonan. And Coonan's made a deal with the D.A."

"Where is Coonan now?" Bracken demands.

"That's on need to know, and none of my sources are in the loop. Supposedly he pointed Karnacki toward some evidence he'll need to back up his story, but I haven't been able to pick up anything on that either."

Sledge's phone vibrates with the ire of Bracken's response. "Then what the f**k do I need you for?"

"Maybe to let you know when you're about to be arrested, which might be soon. If I were you, Bracken, I'd cut my losses and get the hell out of the country. And if they get too close to me, I may do the same. Most of my funds are offshore. I bought a place in Samoa a few years back. I've been renting it out as a getaway for the brass, but I might settle in there myself. No extradition."

"I'm on the foreign relations committee. I understand extradition treaties," Bracken snaps, "but I don't crack that easily. Karnacki's cut a few corners over the years, and I know what they are. I may be able to salvage this clusterf**k yet."

"Good luck with that," Sledge replies. "I'll be covering my own ass."

* * *

Karnacki stares at the text from a blocked number. "Mr. Clean isn't so clean, is he, Lou? When you go hunting human prey, you'd better have the bigger gun. You're pointing a pistol at a canon. Sometimes retreat is the only path forward."

The muscles on both sides of his jaw pop, as Karnacki's teeth clench. From what Coonan's revealed so far, the message has to be from Bracken. He could make Lou's life hell, but even if he tries, there are already enough people who know what Bracken did, to take him down. And once what's on Coonan's drive is on the record, whatever Bracken tries to hang on Lou, won't matter. Still, it might be time to start thinking about early retirement. No one cares about dirt on someone who is off the radar.


	36. Chapter 36

Guardian Angel

Chapter 36

Kate grabs the last sweet gherkin from an almost depleted relish tray. "Babe, when you picked up enough food for an army, I thought you were kidding, but you're hardly going to have any leftovers."

Rick bags two lonely remnants of smoked ham. "I can stick these in an omelet in the morning. I told you Kate, starving artists. I grew up in the acting community, and there were times when the refrigerator was down to half a bottle of olives, two apples, and some stale cheese, but Mother always hunted down a meal for us somewhere. Actors don't turn down a chance at food, at least until they become famous enough to hire a trainer to snatch it from their greedy hands."

"Is that why you always have such a well-stocked refrigerator?" Kate asks.

"I guess so. And kids feel insecure about enough. I don't want Alexis to ever have to worry about the basics."

"Castle, I don't know that I'd exactly call three flavors of ice cream the basics, but I get it. Where did Martha go?" Kate wonders.

"She's accompanying her charges to the subway where they'll put on an impromptu performance. She wants to revel in an audience reaction."

"She really enjoys teaching, doesn't she?"

"I suppose she does," Castle agrees, "teaching acting anyway. She's never been much for passing on domestic skills. I had to pick up a lot on my own — as self-preservation. I couldn't think about hiring anyone to clean until "In a Hail of Bullets" became a bestseller. And you've noticed that Mother's skills in the culinary arts are, to put it charitably, limited. But she does seem to get a kick out of nurturing young talent. She's always been encouraging to all of Alexis' endeavors, more than she is of mine. She says she keeps me grounded."

Kate rolls her eyes. "I'm not sure that's possible. But whatever she did seems to have worked out."

"Why, thank you, Detective. And while I'm on a roll, how would you like to spend the rest of the evening?"

"I feel like I could use some Lt. Chloe right now. 'Nebula Nine' streams on Hulu. I mean, if the production values are too low for you, I can watch it at home," Kate offers.

"No, no," Rick jumps in. "You don't want to do that. My screen is a lot bigger than yours. If you're going to watch it, you might as well see as much of it as you can."

"Are you sure, Babe?"

I'm sure. You'll get to see more of your heroine, and I," he nuzzles her neck, "will get to see more of mine."

* * *

A strand of Kate's hair tickles Rick's ear as she sleeps with her head on his shoulder. Whatever qualities Nebula Nine lacked, it still sucked the tension out of Kate. He wrestles with what to do next. He could try to ease her onto the couch without waking her and cover her up for the night. Or he could carry her into the bedroom. She looks so peaceful; he hates to disturb her. The couch it will be. At least one of them will be sleeping.

For a moment, Kate isn't sure where she is. As her eyes adjust to the dim light in the loft and she feels the soft leather beneath her, she realizes she fell asleep — just as the empath brought Captain Max back to life. Even after seeing it countless times, she still had a sense of relief. She checks the time on her phone—one a.m. Rick's probably sound asleep himself by now. She could find her shoes and go back to her apartment. It's a little late to walk, even armed. The last thing she needs right now is to have to arrest a would-be mugger. The subway won't be running very often until rush hour, and there won't be many cabs out either. It makes more sense to try to go back to sleep until morning, but she really needs to pee.

Slowly she tiptoes through Rick's bedroom to the en suite main bath. A tiny night light glows within, making Rick's life-sized Boba Fett look even weirder, but at least she can see that the seat's down. Either Martha or his ex-wives must have trained him. It doesn't take long to do her business and wash her hands. The toothbrush Rick gave her the last time she spent the night is still in the rack. She uses that too.

Kate's eyes sweep over Rick as she returns to the bedroom. Curled up in Star Wars pajamas and hugging his pillow, he looks like a little boy. A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead, and she feels an irresistible urge to smooth it back. His eyes open at the touch of her hand on his face. "Kate?"

"I'm sorry Babe, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I was dreaming about you, but I much prefer the real thing." He folds back the sheet and blanket. "You're here anyway. We might as well cuddle."

Kate slips in beside him. "I thought it was the woman who is supposed to suggest cuddling."

Rick rolls on his side to face her. "Did you have something else in mind, Kate?"

"Not exactly in mind. Maybe a little lower." Her hand finds the heat growing below his waist. "I feel a disturbance in the force."

"Since when does Lt. Chloe care about the force?"

"I'm moving on to a galaxy far, far away."

Grasping her hips, Rick tugs her against his burgeoning need. "Well, in that case, may fortune guide your journey."

* * *

Kate retreats into the cozy curve of Rick's body as she hears sheets of rain slamming against the windows of the loft. Rick presses his lips to her neck. "Good morning."

"It doesn't sound like one outside. Did you see a storm predicted for today?'

Rick pushes up on one elbow. "Not that I remember, but I didn't check either. I was more focused on what was going on yesterday — and earlier this morning." He grabs his phone from the nightstand. "Um, weather, weather. Uh-huh. A tropical depression weakened but turned north and hightailed its way up the coast. It stalled over New Jersey and New York. We'll probably be getting soaked all day. I hope the subways don't flood, but anyway, in this weather, I'll take Alexis to school and pick her up afterward. It's only five. We have some time before I'll need to get a handle on the day. Maybe I can get a handle on something else."

Kate trails a fingertip down the center of his bare chest. "You seemed to have a pretty good grasp of things last night."

Rick gulps as Kate's wandering hand teases him awake. "And you have an excellent grasp of the present situation," he notes, "but there was this one spot where…," Gasping, Kate arches under his explorations. He grins, capturing her mouth with his. "Yes, that was it. Feels like you're making pretty good progress yourself. Ready to give the storm a run for its money?"

"I'm ready. I'm so ready," Kate pants.

"Me too." A crack of lightning punctuates their joining as they move to the steady beat of the rain. As the wind whips against the outer wall of their haven, the energy of their private storm builds. As rumbling sound vibrates the walls of their refuge, waves of completion roll through them in rhythm with the thunder.


	37. Chapter 37

Guardian Angel

Chapter 37

"You've been busy," Johanna comments as Kate pulls on her clothes from the day before.

"Mom, you didn't!"

"Of course not," Johanna reassures her daughter. "I'm not on earth as a voyeur, but I do think you and Rick are a nice fit. And you seem to be getting closer to bringing Coonan and Bracken to justice."

"I hope so, Mom. Castle does have a way of encouraging people to help us out."

Johanna chuckles. "I wish I'd had him around when I was in practice. But I didn't have the tools you have now, either. You remember the old dial-up internet in my office?"

"At the time, I thought it was cool."

"Yeah, you did when you found that chat room with other girls who like motorcycles. I had a hard time getting you away from the keyboard."

"There are times I can't wait to get away from it now," Kate confesses. "Computers have changed. Too bad criminals haven't, but we can use their tools against them. That's what I'm waiting for, to find what Coonan and the guy Bracken probably sent after him, squirreled away on drives."

"You were never very good at waiting for anything," Johanna recalls. "But it looks like Rick has the hang of keeping your mind — or something — occupied."

"Mom, **quit** it!"

"I'm going, Katie-girl, but I'll be around if you need me.

Kate's nose follows the siren-scent of bacon into the kitchen. From the stove, Rick looks over his shoulder at Kate, smiling. "Eggs will be ready in a minute. There's coffee and juice. If we hurry, I can drop you at your place to change before I deliver Alexis to school. She should be down any minute."

Kate colors. "What are we going to tell her?"

"The truth: that you were exhausted and fell asleep watching T.V. — unless you want to add details."

Kate holds up her hand. "No, I'm good. I'll meet you at the 12th after you're done dropping her off."

* * *

"What happened, Babe?" Kate asks as Castle drips his way into the bullpen. "You look like a drowned puppy."

One of Alexis' classmates was bringing a project to school. She tripped, and the whole thing fell into a massive puddle. Alexis and I helped her rescue what we could."

"Did Alexis get soaked too?"

"Uh-huh, but she said she'd dry off in the locker room and change into her gym clothes. I wish I had a locker here. You don't suppose Montgomery would…"

"No, I don't think he would. Why didn't you go by the loft for dry things?"

"It wasn't on my way, and I didn't want to miss anything. Has Wong got the data from Maddox's drive yet?"

"He's still working on it, but he thinks he'll have something soon. Montgomery got an update from the lab, though. They tied Coonan to three more murders. I was just about to check for any ties the victims have with Bracken. If you want to go change at the loft, I can give you the names to check with your resources there. We can find more, faster, that way."

"All right," Castle agrees. "The Red Hots are supposed to be arriving this morning if the brown truck isn't four wheels in the mud. When I return, I will have Wong's reward in hand."

* * *

Settling behind his desk in a plaid flannel shirt over a mercifully dry T-shirt and jeans, Castle rereads the names Kate gave him. One, Devin Marist, looks vaguely familiar. Rick can't pin down why but decides to go with his instinct and start with what rings a bell. At least it isn't a common name. Most of the listings he gets when he types the string into Google refer to a college, so he tries again with the appellation in quotes. That strategy yields only postings for a young athlete's track meets; nothing that would pull Bracken's attention.

The Swiss Army Knife of search engines is not about to do the trick. Rick types his credentials into his news archive service and tries again. The article that pops is an image from an issue of the Columbus News from the 1970s, showing a Devin Marist breaking ground on a building on Columbus Avenue. Marist named it Liliana after his wife. A toddler in the picture is identified as Devin Marist, Jr. Checking out Liliana Marist, Rick finds an obituary in 1992, listing her as a mugging victim and her only living relative as a son, Devin.

Rick signs onto another service, one dealing with unsolved crimes. Liliana is there, but with only a few details, one of which is that a person of interest was never charged, due to the D.A. at the time, William Bracken, deciding he didn't have enough evidence. That's why Rick recognizes the name; it was in Johanna's papers. Devin had written to her about his mother. Since the letter was in his stack, Kate may not have even seen it! Rick prints out what little he has, and runs for the door.

* * *

Kate startles as Johanna shimmers in behind her and points at a name on the report from C.S.U., just as Castle bursts out of the elevator holding up his paperwork. "Kate! I've got something! Devin Marist! It looks like Bracken let his mother's killer walk."

"That was pretty much what I was going to say," Johanna confides. "You go ahead and see what Rick has."

Hunched over his desk, Lou Karnacki flips through a pile of old case files he's gathered. He managed to clean up a lot of the stench that Bracken left in the office, but it wasn't easy. To gain support from certain quarters, there were a few things he had to let go. Most of them were minor, white-collar crimes involving limited amounts of money, but he had to steer one case in the wrong direction.

At first, it seemed like a D.U.I. arrest. No one had been hurt, and the driver was Scotty Crawford, the scion of a major contributor to his party. Lou made sure a technicality arose: an intoxilyzer overdue for calibration. It was enough to get the case dismissed. Then more details started to turn up on an unsolved hit-and-run — leading back to the boy. With a D.U.I. conviction on the record, Lou might have had enough to make the case, but in that political climate, he had to drop it. The family promised Scotty would go to rehab and get straightened out. But two years later, there was another "accident," and another dead body. The Crawford family sent Scotty overseas to run a resort in the Maldives, out of reach of U.S. law. Even if Leo had the guts to oppose the Crawfords, there was nothing he could do, but there were whispers in high political circles. No doubt Bracken heard them — and the bastard knew all about the mechanics of protecting the guilty. He'd practically invented them. Maybe Leo has blood on his hands, but at least he never sent a Coonan after anyone. And when he gets through, Bracken won't either, no matter what it costs.

* * *

Devin Marist must have gone to someone in the N.Y.P.D. about what happened to his mother," Castle figures. "Think we could find them?"

"Maybe, Castle. If there was a match to his D.N.A., there has to be a file on his case. We need to talk to the detective in charge. It was," Kate hits a few keys, "Roy Montgomery!"

"Didn't he say anything? He must have seen the name."

"He had to leave for a meeting with the Chief of Detectives, so he just forwarded the report to me. I don't think he read it. When he gets back, I'll have to tell him about Marist."


	38. Chapter 38

Guardian Angel

Chapter 38

"I'm going back out to my car to get Wong's case of Red Hots," Castle decides. "The delivery truck pulled up just as I was leaving, so I just threw the box in the trunk. At least the rain's let up, for a while anyway. No hot and sticky messes." His brows dance above his eyes. "Not from the candy, anyway."

Kate swallows as her cheeks warm. "Just go get your bribe, Castle."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"A little bossy, don't you think, Kate?" Johanna asks.

"I just can't afford to think about um, that, right now," Kate explains.

* * *

Wong's eyes light at his junk-food bonanza. "Thank you, Mr. Castle. These are great. And Detective Beckett, I was about to come to get you. Maddox encrypted his drive, but he didn't do a very good job of it. He used an older system. I ran an established algorithm to break it. It took time, but I let the program run all night. We have readable files now. I scanned for malware and viruses and made you a copy. If you want, I can make one for Mr. Castle, too."

Castle nods enthusiastically at Kate. "That would be great, Wong," she responds.

Rick bounces behind Kate as they return to the bullpen. "Now we're getting somewhere!"

"I hope so, Babe. We haven't seen what's in those files yet."

"It will be good," Castle declares. "I can feel it.

* * *

Rick barely keeps his breakfast in his stomach. "Recording the screams of his victims like that. Ew! Disgusting doesn't even begin to cover it. The man was sick, Kate."

Or just plain evil," Johanna interjects.

"But he was organized," Kate points out, "which will work to our advantage. Each file has the name of the victim, the date, the price, and who ordered the kill. More than half of these contracts came from Bracken. Maddox even started a file for Bracken's hit on Coonan."

"If we can put that together with whatever we can independently gather on Bracken's involvement in Coonan's Marist hit, and maybe some of the others, won't Coonan's information be less important to Karnacki?" Castle wonders.

"That's a good question," Johanna muses.

"It could," Kate answers. "You can use Ryan's computer. He and Esposito are off today. Let's get everything we can from Maddox's twisted records. Maybe by then, Montgomery will be back, and we can ask him about the Marist case."

"Fine, but I'm muting the sound," Castle declares.

"Yeah," Kate agrees, "me too."

* * *

Chief of Detectives Rodney McCabe taps on a file on his desk. "You've been using a lot of resources, Roy."

"And catching big fish," Montgomery points out. "My detectives just collared a serial killer. And our precinct has the best closure rate in the city. You know that, Rod."

"I do, but there is a recession, which means less tax money and fewer funds. The City Council is yelling bloody murder at the commissioner to keep a lid on costs, and sh*t rolls downhill. I know you and all the other precinct captains have been trying to cut things to the bone, but you're going to have to tighten your belts even more. If not, the commissioner is talking about layoffs, and you know what happens when we have fewer cops on the street. We'll have more crime and even less personnel to deal with it. That could become a vicious circle."

"So, what now?" Montgomery demands. "Do I tell my people to bring their own toilet paper?"

"Considering the cheap stuff procurement wants to order, that might not be a bad idea," McCabe quips. "But honestly, Roy, we're going to have to institute some harsh measures. No more overtime unless a cop is coping with an imminent threat, as in the middle of hostage negotiations. Other than that, they come in at the beginning of their shifts and clock out the minute they're over. We'll have strict limits on supplies — sticky notes, paper clips, everything. If you run out before your next resupply is due, you tough it out. And sick leave of more than two days will require a doctor's note."

"Maybe my people should sell cop candy and hold car washes," Montgomery returns.

McCabe leans back in his chair and sighs. "Roy, this isn't personal. The new measures are department-wide. The situation is temporary and hopefully only until the beginning of the next fiscal year."

"That's six months!"

McCabe shrugs. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Kate knocks on the doorframe of Montgomery's office. "Sir, can we have a word?"

Roy throws his pen down on a stack of expense vouchers he can no longer approve. "What is it, Beckett? I thought you'd be working with the information I forwarded to you from CSU."

"We are, Sir. I mean Castle and I were. That's what I need to talk to you about. Do you remember the murder of a woman named Liliana Marist?"

"Was she one of Coonan's victims?" Roy queries.

"No, but we think her son, Devin, was," Castle explains.

"You were the detective on Liliana's case," Kate picks up. "Do you remember talking to Devin about it?"

Montgomery scrubs his hand over his face. "Right, kid in his early twenties. His mother's death had the hallmarks of a mugging. It appeared to have happened when she was on her way back to her car from an ATM—nothing on camera, no suspects. But Devin said that his mother had uncovered some irregularities at work. Liliana Marist was a bookkeeper for Granville-Atlantic.

"Granville-Atlantic is owned by the Toch Brothers," Castle notes.

"I wouldn't know," Montgomery admits. "I don't keep up with that sort of thing. That's Evelyn's domain. But according to Devin, Lilliana started getting notes on her desk, and on the windshield of her car, to shut up and mind her own business. Nothing overtly threatening, but she was scared. Devin told me he spotted a man hanging around Liliana's building before she was killed. He said the guy got into a car with a Granville-Atlantic parking sticker. I had him work with a sketch artist, but the kid had some kind of perceptual thing, he had a hard time with faces."

"Prosopagnosia, or face blindness," Castle guesses.

"Right," Montgomery acknowledges. "That's what he called it. That's why he was fine with the sticker but couldn't identify the man. The sketch could have been anyone, and I didn't have anything else to go on. Granville-Atlantic has 3,000 employees in New York City and more in New Jersey and Connecticut.

"Also, I was getting some pressure from above to call Liliana's case a mugging. Finally, with that little to go on, I had to, but Devin swore he wouldn't give up. I moved on to another case and didn't hear anything more from him until he turned up dead. Someone must have sent Coonan after him. I still had no suspects and the same pressure to abandon the case the way I had with Liliana. Then my captain piled five more cases on me. Eventually, I had to let both Marist investigations go cold."

"It all fits together," Castle proposes as he and Kate leave Montgomery's office. "We know Bracken is tied up with the Toch Brothers. Liliana uncovers some financial misdoings at Granville-Atlantic, and when she raises a fuss, she gets taken out. Bracken twisted arms to close Liliana's case to protect the Toch Brothers' Granville-Atlantic holdings. And when Devin wouldn't let his mother's death go as a mugging, Bracken sent Coonan to take him out."

Kate chews on the tip of her finger. "If that's true, Castle, Coonan and/or Coonan's records, should back it up. Karnacki has both, but with the D.N.A. evidence, he won't need them as much. The Bracken references in the horror show that Maddox recorded, are a load of evidence in a form that will give a jury nightmares. We need to pass all of that up the line."

"Are you going to ask Montgomery to call Karnacki again?"

"No, he looked up to his ears in whatever the Chief of Detectives dumped on him. I think we ought to make a visit to the D.A.'s office."


	39. Chapter 39

Guardian Angel

Chapter 39

A harried woman with hair sneaking out of her bun looks up as Kate and Rick approach her desk. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett, and this is Mr. Castle. We need a minute of Mr. Karnacki's time."

Messy Bun pokes an errant strand back into place. "Mr. Karnacki doesn't have a minute today. He's already running an hour behind. You can make an appointment."

Castle's eyes flick toward a nameplate half obscured by a pile of documents. "We can wait, Ms. Harbrough. Perhaps he'll have a call end early, or a meeting fall through."

Strands fly free again as Harbrough shakes her head. "Nothing ends early for Mr. Karnacki, but," she waves her arm at several time-worn wooden chairs, "I won't stop you from wasting your time."

Kate nods. "If Mr. Karnacki does have a second, please tell him we have additional information on Dick Coonan."

As Kate and Rick perch on the unpadded seats, a text dings on Kate's cellphone. "What's up?" Castle queries.

"It's a precinct wide announcement from Montgomery. Everyone has to return to the 12th by the end of shift to clock out. Damn! I haven't had to do that since I made detective. What the hell is going on with 1PP?"

"From the look on Montgomery's face and the stack of paperwork on his desk, I'd guess some serious penny-pinching. But," Rick adds, looking at his watch, "we have hours before you have to head back. I could order a pizza, and if we share it with Ms. Harbrough, it might put her in a more charitable mood."

Kate regards the dragon at the gate. "I'm not sure that's possible, and after listening to Maddox's audio files, I'm not hungry, but we could try a search on our phones for the two other DNA matches we got from Coonan."

"I don't know how much we'll get out of the straight search functions, but my home network will recognize my cellphone's IP address and allow me to link in to my subscriptions. Using a standard keyboard would be faster, but the phone will be better than nothing. It might even give us something else for Karnacki."

"Go for it, Babe. Which one are you checking out?"

"Perry Storch. For some reason, I have a mental image of him balancing on one leg in a yoga studio. That's where I would put someone with a name like that."

Kate suppresses a giggle. "I'd put him behind the grill in a really bad steakhouse."

"I could picture that," Castle acknowledges, "but let's see what we get."

Castle thumbs in his passwords and keywords to begin his search. "Hmm. I found his obit. No mention of yoga or cookery, though. He was a construction worker. Death, again, was attributed to a mugging. He left a wife and three children. According to this, he had been spearheading a grassroots organization working for safer conditions on construction sites. At the time of his death, the group's target was, oh, here we go, Granville-Atlantic." Castle mimes looking into a crystal ball. "Ah, the images are becoming clearer. I sense a pattern forming."

"Try the other victim, Babe, Larnie Bradwell."

"Larnie Bradwell," Castle repeats. "Oh! It's a guy. I have an obit on him too. He worked for an auditing firm, Mastercheck, and supposedly died due to random violence. He had a wife, two kids, and four grandchildren, and he was a year away from retirement. Want to bet Mastercheck was auditing something connected to the Toch Brothers?"

Kate pulls out her own phone. "I'd make that bet. Mastercheck must be on Google. Yeah. They have a huge website, and there are a bunch of logos from their clients. Wait, I recognize this company, Sivista. It makes fibers for textiles. I remember because years ago, it went after a company my father represented, claiming that his client stole their process. Dad was sweating bullets over that one. His client almost went out of business while he fought the suit because Sivista has deep enough pockets to keep delaying."

"Toch Brothers' deep pockets?" Castle wonders, with busy thumbs.

"I don't know, but Dad won a settlement, eventually. It turned out that Sivista was the one that stole the process. But he had to dig through tons of documents to find the clues."

Castle regards the results on his screen. "Bingo! The Tochs own Sivista. You're lucky they didn't have Bracken send Coonan after your father."

"It wouldn't have done much good," Kate realizes. "Dad submitted the documents he found to the court. They were part of the public record. Killing him would have just raised more questions. Settling quickly once the information came to light kept it under the radar a lot better than the death of a lawyer in the case would have." Kate shudders. "Still, you're right. I could have lost both my parents to Coonan, Bracken, and the Tochs."

Rick reaches for her hand.

"Thank The Father you didn't," Johanna whispers. "Maybe that's why he let me come to you."

Castle scoots his chair closer to Kate's and puts his arm around her shoulders. "We have a lot more for Karnacki now. The Tochs do a lot of business in New York and support Bracken to be their fixer. What D.A. wouldn't want to get his teeth into that?"

As if on cue, a door opens, and Lou Karnacki sticks his head out. "Harbrough, can you reschedule…"

"Mr. Karnacki," Kate interrupts springing to her feet, "we have information on Dick Coonan — and his boss. You need need to hear it, the sooner, the better."

Karnacki gestures Kate and Rick to follow him. "I have five minutes before a conference call. Talk fast."

* * *

Karnacki drums his fingertips against the edge of his desk. "If a fraction of what you've told me is true, this mess stretches way beyond my jurisdiction. I'll have to get the U.S. Attorney in the Southern District involved and possibly other federal agencies. Coonan will turn out to be a minor player."

"All of which would mean that any deal he has with you wouldn't protect him with the feds." Castle assumes.

"As much as possible, we'll coordinate our efforts, but yes, Mr. Castle. That is essentially correct."

"But, you'll still be keeping him under wraps until he testifies?" Kate queries.

"I may be coordinating that too, but now that we have his documentary evidence against Bracken, it isn't as much of an issue, particularly since it's backed up by what you've brought me. Tell Montgomery that I'm the one who owes him a bottle."

"I'll do that," Kate agrees, "but he'd probably like it better if you could do something about his budget cuts."

"The Commissioner and I have a standing lunch date," Karnacki confides. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Rick watches as Kate clocks out. "Wow! 5 p.m. on the dot. Nicely done, Detective. What do you plan to do with your unexpected freedom?"

"I have no idea, Castle. I'm still wired from our meeting with Karnacki."

"I know, I am too. But we could wind down during a walk to the loft, in the happy absence of rain. Alexis is going to a group violin lesson this evening, and Mother will be at the theater. Perhaps we can throw together a little dinner, sip some of your favorite wine and see what develops."

"Sounds perfect, Babe."

Castle offers his arm. "Then let us begin our sunlit stroll."


	40. Chapter 40

Guardian Angel

Chapter 40

Castle flips two sizzling steaks, and Kate gives a final toss to their salad. He glances back at the open bottle on the counter. That should have had enough time to breathe by now. The steaks are almost done. You want to pour?"

"Sure. Want to have a sip now?" she purrs, filling two goblets.

Rick's brows ripple above grinning eyes as he lays down his tongs. "Why not?" Accepting his glass, he intertwines his arm with hers, splashing a few drops on the floor as he attempts to drink. Shaking his head, he reaches for a paper towel. "Happens every time."

Kate's eyes darken. "How often have you done it?"

"Um, three times, I think. Once when I proposed to Meredith, once with Paula, when sales of one of my books beat Patterson's, and just now."

"I don't think that's a statistically significant sample, Castle."

"Maybe not," Rick agrees. "But still, we have time to find new and intriguing ways to enjoy the fruit of the vine, and whatever goes with it."

"You mean the steaks, which you'd better take off the grill before it's too late?"

Castle grabs for his tongs. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but you're right. Seared is much preferable to scorched. Actually, they look almost perfect."

"Almost?"

"There can be only one perfect vision in the kitchen, and that's you."

"Babe, if I didn't know better, I'd think you started early on the wine. But I should **quit** while I'm ahead and take the compliment."

"I heard you," Johanna acknowledges, fading out.

"So," Castle wonders as he and Kate take seats at the table, "have you worked cases with the Southern District before?"

"Not much. Homicides are local crimes unless there's a federal official or a kidnapping involved. In that case, we liaise with the F.B.I. and they deal with the D.O.J. I try to stay away from the feds as much as possible?"

"Defending your territory?"

"Something like that, I guess. The bigger the organization, the slower it can move. I like to be fast on my feet."

"I've noticed," Rick murmurs, caressing her cheekbone. "But on occasion, there are advantages to taking things slowly."

Slipping off her shoe, Kate runs her stockinged toes up his leg. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

Choking, Rick presses his napkin to his mouth. "Kate, I think you're already veering into the fast lane."

"Who says we have to limit ourselves to one trip?" Kate whispers, nipping at his ear.

"No one. No one at all. Maybe we can eat later."

"Good idea."

Shoeless, Kate bounds ahead of Rick, landing on the bed with a bounce. Kicking off his footwear, he joins her, tugging at her top. Tugging his shirt from his waistband, she plunges her hands beneath it. "Warm."

He tastes the flesh below her ear. "Getting hotter all the time."

"Then, you need fewer clothes."

"So do you, but that won't make us any cooler. Maybe we should try the shower," Rick proposes.

"Didn't you get soaked enough for one day?"

He pushes her slacks down her legs. "Ah, but that was for an English history project. This one is for biology, and strictly personal. Care to join me beneath the stimulating spray?"

"Are we being graded?"

"No need. I think we'll know when we make the honor roll."

With their shed clothes marking their path, the couple blazes their way to Rick's oversized enclosure. After quickly adjusting the flow, Rick carries Kate inside. "Castle, this thing is big enough to dance in."

"Dancing wasn't what I had in mind right now, Kate, unless you are referring to moving to the most ancient of rhythms. But I will admit, I have added a few steps while belting one out in here."

Kate runs her fingers over his bare back, slickened by the water. "I've got you under my skin."

Rick jerks her tightly against his hips, joining her sultry song. "I've got you, deep in the heart of me."

With her arms around his neck, her legs encircle him, heat to heat. "So deep in my heart, you're really a part of me."

"Enough of that," Rick pants. His tongue thrusts deep into her mouth as their lips collide, and his need finds her open, her moisture not solely from the pelting water. The glass surrounding them rattles, marking the beat of a theme they're too breathless to sing. They cling to each other as the crescendo hits, letting the wall support their boneless bodies.

As his muscles slowly regain strength, Rick reaches through the enclosure door to grab a bath sheet from the towel warmer. He wraps it around Kate, before taking one for himself. "That was – I don't think incredible would even begin to describe it."

"A writer without the right adjective," Kate teases, clicking her tongue. "You'll have to think of one before you describe how Nikki and Rook get it on."

"I've already written the chapter," Rick confesses. "But, I think a rewrite might be in order."

* * *

"Are you serious, Karnacki?" U.S. Attorney Meacham demands. "William Bracken? The Toch brothers?"

"As a heart attack," Karnacki responds. "Look, I've got Bracken's pet wet boy in a safe house. I don't know if you'll want to transfer him or not, but there's already been one attempt to take him out, and the fewer people who know where he is, the better."

"He can stay there, at least for now," Meacham decides. "Bracken and the Toch brothers are the big fish, and I doubt we'll be able to nail the Tochs on anything except financial crimes without Bracken, so he's our top priority. Is he in New York?"

"As far as I know," Karnacki replies. "My people haven't coordinated with the N.Y.P.D. to set up surveillance on him yet."

"Don't," Meacham responds. "From what you've told me so far, the department has at least one leak. It may have more. I'll have the F.B.I. handle it. And they'll bring in Bracken's errand boy Sledge, too, quietly."

"Right," Karnacki agrees. "I'll explain it to Commissioner Tuohy. We're scheduled to have dinner tomorrow, but our little talk is more urgent now. I can move it up to lunch."

"You do that, Karnacki. Listen, I'm going to keep a lid on this as long as I can, but you know that sooner or later, the press is going to get wind of something."

"My office will be strictly no comment until we have Bracken in custody," Karnacki declares. "Once we do, they can sniff the breeze all they want."

"You have a point," Meacham concedes. "Journalists have been after the Toch brothers for years. They may have information we can use that their editorial departments refused to clear before. David Fahrenfree has been digging into the Tochs forever. He may finally be able to put out his stories. Hell, he'll probably write a damned book."

* * *

Kate forks the last bite of her steak into her mouth with gusto. "You want another one?" Rick offers. "There are more in the freezer."

Kate leans back with her hands clasped over her belly and sighs. "No more steak, but do you have any more potato chip fudge ice cream?"

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Those cookies dipped in dark chocolate, then maybe we can catch a little nap."

"Ice cream and cookies coming up," Rick announces, "and naps are good. I'm definitely in favor of a nap."


	41. Chapter 41

Guardian Angel

Chapter 41

Face flushed with excitement, Alexis vaults onto her stool at the counter. "You look cheery," Rick observes, sliding a plate with an egg-white omelet and three slices of turkey bacon in front of her.

Alexis notes the bounce with which her father moves from the stove to the refrigerator. "So do you. Did you and Detective Beckett have a good time last night? I saw her purse on the chair when I came in."

Sparks of remembrance gleam in Castle's eyes. "Yeah, we did, and what is putting the smile on your lightly glossed lips?"

"My lesson last night, Dad. Dylan was fantastic! I learned so much about technique and how to feel the music."

"Wait, Dylan? What happened to Olga? I liked Olga."

"She retired. She wants to spend more time with her grandchildren. Maybe she'll give them some of the hard candy that bulged out of her pockets all the time. But anyway, Dylan is a better musician and a better teacher. He started taking classes at Juilliard at 10, and they accepted him for early admission while he was still a junior in high school. He's in his last year now. He's so immersed in the joy of music; it's contagious.

"I got really lucky too. One of his private students is moving to Boston to study at the conservatory there. I got the spot. I'll have lessons here with Dylan every Thursday evening. Isn't that wonderful?"

"It is if it makes you this happy. Just so I know, in case I'm the one who answers the door, what does this Dylan look like?" Rick queries.

Alexis pulls her phone out of her pocket and brings up an image. "This is him, Dylan Fulton."

Castle regards the picture of an excessively good-looking young man. "He looks very, um, nice."

"He is Dad. You'll like him."

"I'm sure I will." Rick turns back to the kitchen and beats an unnecessary batch of batter — hard.

* * *

"Something wrong, Babe?" Kate asks as Rick plops into the chair next to her desk. "You agreed that it wasn't a bad idea for me to leave last night. I did need to check on my mail and my apartment."

"Yeah, I know," Castle acknowledges. "I'd much rather wake up to your beautiful face, but that's not the problem. It's Alexis' new violin teacher, her young, handsome violin teacher, Dylan Fulton. Something about him makes me uncomfortable."

"That he is young, male, and handsome, and Alexis is a teenage girl?"

"Exactly. I did a background check on him and didn't find any criminal history, but then many sexual assaults go unreported."

"Too many," Kate adds.

Rick nods vigorously. "Am I being overprotective? Mother says I am."

"Your mother, who exposed her little boy to backstage activities he would have been too young to see in a movie?"

"She's the only one I have. And as you have so aptly pointed out, I'm not sure I can trust her judgment in the matter. According to Alexis — and his Facebook page — Dylan goes to Juilliard. One of the authors I play cards with is on the board there. I was considering making inquiries. Would that be over the top?"

"I don't think so, Babe, but I'm not sure Alexis would agree with me. She's independent, even for a teenager. She reminds me a little of the way I was at that age, except that she's into the violin, not motorcycles. I hung around with a couple of characters that probably gave my dad nightmares."

"They did," Johanna interjects. "And he had his investigator check on them. You just never knew about it. Your dad worried about you. There's nothing wrong with Rick worrying about his little girl."

"Make the call, Castle," Kate advises, "but brace yourself for what will happen if Alexis finds out."

"I think I'll take a walk and do that," Rick decides. "I can use the air — unless there's something going on here."

"It's pretty quiet," Kate admits. "Right now, all we're doing is crosschecking each other's reports. Take your time."

* * *

After striding the ten blocks to a nearby pocket park, Rick settles on a bench to make his call. Of course, it goes to voicemail. Rick does the best he can to make his plea sound urgent but not crazy. He decides that as long as he has his phone in his hand, he might as well check his newsfeed. A headline immediately grabs his attention. A Bracken LABA rally was canceled with no warning or explanation, and reporters were unable to reach Bracken for comment.

The spokesperson for the campaign would only say that the candidate was attending to urgent matters. "Urgent matters," Rick mutters, "like trying to avoid being questioned about a string of murders?" Springing from his seat, he hurries in the direction of the 12th Precinct. Kate may be able to find out what's going on.

* * *

"Where's my lawyer?" Bracken demands as U.S. Attorney Joyce Meacham coolly takes in his growing distress.

"On the way, Bracken. You might as well settle down," Joyce advises. "You're going to be here for a while — a long while. I'll send one of my people in to keep you company and get you some coffee while you wait for your counsel to arrive."

"You had no right to arrest me," Bracken protests, "As a member of Congress, I have constitutional protections."

"If you'd actually read the Constitution, which I assume you must have been required to do at some point in law school, you would know full well that those protections only apply when you are going back and forth to the chamber or performing your duties on the floor. And you have no shield at all from felony charges. Believe me. There will be a great many of those, including conspiracy in multiple homicides."

"My lawyers will impeach any witnesses you have," Bracken declares.

"They can try," Meacham allows, "but documents are unimpeachable, and we have a lot of them. We have you, Bracken, and you're not the only one we have. However, there's no point in discussing this until your attorney arrives. You might as well accept the coffee. You're going to have a very long day."

* * *

Commissioner Tuohy suspiciously sniffs his smoked salmon. "This better be Nova Scotia. That other stuff is way too salty. So, I gave you the earliest spot I could, Leo, 12 hours ahead of our set time. What's so important?"

"For one thing, the F.B.I. is picking up your man Sledge, if they haven't already."

"Sledge? Why? He's a paper pusher, but a good one."

"He's a mole, Jack. He's been facilitating the operations of some very bad and powerful people. The lid is on the whole matter, but I wanted to give you a heads up. Right now, your answer to the press about anything involving Sledge or any of his associations should be 'No comment.'"

Tuohy tears off a piece of his bagel and tops it with cream cheese. "That won't be hard. I don't know a damn thing I could tell them. How big is this Lou, and how bad a hit will the department take?"

"It's huge, Jack. It's going to shake up a lot of quarters, quarters with heavy hitters. But if the department goes along and makes sure its house is clean, the N.Y.P.D. should come out of this as heroes. That especially goes for the 12th Precinct and a detective named Kate Beckett. And while we're on the subject of the 12th, Roy Montgomery's budget strings could use a little loosening, if you want to keep looking good to the press."

"When I get an idea of what's actually happening with this thing, whatever it is, I'll give the budget issue another look," Tuohy promises.


	42. Chapter 42

Guardian Angel

Chapter 42

"Kate!" Rick calls, charging from the elevator to her desk. "Have you heard anything about Bracken?"

"I got a call from Ms. Harbrough, passing on a message from Karnacki."

"What message?"

"That things are moving but to sit tight and not talk about the operation with anyone in the department or the press."

"I guess that excludes me," Castle figures. "I'm not on the force or a member of the vaunted Fourth Estate.

"It would be too late to keep secrets from you, anyway," Kate acknowledges. "Did you hear something while you were out?"

"More saw than heard. It was on my newsfeed," he explains, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his slacks. "Oh, there's more already," he adds, turning the screen so Kate can see it. "Look."

Kate's lips narrow into a hard line. "The press is smelling blood in the water. They're not about to stop digging into why Bracken suddenly dropped from sight."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Castle wonders. "The more people turn over rocks, the more ugly squirmy things will be exposed."

"You might be right, Castle," Kate considers. "But if Karnacki wants me mum, I'll stay that way. Bracken's lawyers could use anything I say to the press to question my objectivity if I'm called as a witness against Bracken."

"How about me?"

"Harbrough didn't mention you."

Castle's brows converge on the bridge of his nose. "Well, that's flattering — not!"

"Honestly, Babe, you make up stuff for a living. Any good lawyer could probably use that to tear apart anything you claim. Theoretically, Karnacki could call you as a witness against Coonan because he attacked both of us. Still, it's unlikely Coonan will go to trial, so anything coming from you shouldn't be an issue."

Castle drops into his accustomed seat. "Good to know — I guess."

* * *

No one in the newsroom at the Ledger finds it unusual that David Fahrenfree has been hunched over his desk for six straight hours, not even getting up to fetch coffee. In fact, they'd find it remarkable if he hadn't been. He's been obsessed with the Toch Brothers ever since he came to the venerable newspaper, continually checking on their financial transactions and political dealings. He even set up a board tracing the connections between the two. Most of the lines converged at one politician from New York.

Now, with much of the press corps buzzing about Bracken, Fahrenfree's work is taking on new significance. He checks the caller I.D. as his cellphone chimes. It's the S.D.N.Y. U.S. Attorney's office. Now, he's finally getting somewhere. If he has his way, the Tochs will be toast. With the first grin to crack his face in years, he accepts the call.

* * *

Kate eyes the display in the corner of her computer screen as the numbers change from 4:59 to 5:00. "I could get used to this," she murmurs, stretching her arms over her head before pushing back her chair and making the short trek to the timeclock. When she returns to her desk, Castle is holding her light jacket up for her to slip on. "Ready to go?"

"Sure, but I thought we'd stop at the deli on the way for some of that mustard potato salad you bought when Martha had her theater students in. That stuff was incredible."

Rick wraps his arms around her as she zips up. "Whatever the lady desires."

* * *

"What the hell is going on, Jared?" Charles Toch demands. "We poured all that money into Bracken and the PACS supporting him, and now he's under wraps somewhere."

"Damned if I know," Jared admits. "There's a rumor out there that the S.D.N.Y. has him, but none of our people can confirm it. However, we may have a worse problem."

Charles throws an unlit cigar down on the old-fashioned blotter on his mahogany desk. "What could be worse than the man we've been grooming for decades to take the reins in this country disappearing on us?"

"One of our sources told me that the S.D.N.Y. reached out to David Fahrenfree. That reporter has been sifting through our trash for years and always had his eye on Bracken. The sonofabitch called every one of our employees on record as a Bracken contributor to ask if they were pressured into supporting him. We had to buy a seat on the board of the Ledger to stop them from printing an exposé.

"So far, we've been able to keep a foot on Fahrenfree's neck," Jared continues, "letting him write about the minor stuff while keeping anything really damaging from going to print. But we don't have any control over the S.D.N.Y. We can pick up some information on their investigations, but that's all. If Fahrenfree turns over everything he has, they'll run with it — right into federal court."

"Where it can take years or more for anything to happen," Charles points out. "Our attorneys will bury the S.D.N.Y. in motions and appeal every judgment against us. By the time the cases conclude, if they ever do, we could both be in our graves."

"It was bad enough when that hacker publicized our connection to him, but what Joyce Meacham has in mind could be a lot worse. What about the public's perception while all that is going on?" Jared stews.

Charles shrugs his subtly padded shoulders. "What about it? We make money, lots of money. To a large swath of the American public, that makes us heroes. They don't care if we cut a few corners. F**k! They admire it. But, we need to control the leadership. Bracken is a perfect choice. He puts on a show that makes the tree huggers happy, but when he gets into office, he can roll back all the hobbles the E.P.A. puts on our mining operations, and keep the windmills from competing with our oil and gas. He can cut the restrictions on vehicle emissions, too, to keep oil demand up. With Bracken in the White House, we would make back what we spent on him, at least tenfold, probably a lot more. If he's out of the running, we need a new candidate, yesterday."

Jared nods, toying with a custom-made cufflink. "Right, maybe we tag someone from a mining state or a manufacturing center. I'll have our strategists look into the most likely prospects. But what about — you know? If Bracken sings about that, it could be all over."

"Why would he?" Charles questions. "He'd be cutting his own throat. He's not that stupid."

Jared loosens his tie. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Rick's phone bleeps as the deli clerk hands him a bag containing a pound of mustard potato salad and several large kosher dill pickles.

"I'll take this if you want to get that," Kate offers, reaching for the sack.

Castle checks the source of the call. "It's my buddy on the board of Juilliard. Hey, Bennie! Yeah. Really? Wow! Thanks for letting me know. I owe you big time. Absolutely, seven-layer dip. I won't forget."

"What did he say?" Kate queries.

Castle doesn't answer until he and Kate are out of the store. "That Dylan Fulton tried to get too insistent that a young woman put something between her knees in place of her cello. Another student intervened before things could escalate. The victim didn't want to press charges, but Dylan Fulton has been kicked loose and a letter sent to the other music schools warning them not to take him in. The only way he'll survive in music right now is by taking on private students who can pay big bucks — like Alexis."

Kate puts a hand on Rick's arm. "Sounds like your fatherly instincts were right on the button, Babe, but what are you going to tell her?"

Rick sighs. "What I always tell her, the truth. But, for a woman and cop's point of view, could you be with me when I do it? "

Kate snuggles into Rick's shoulder. "Sure, Babe. However I can help."


	43. Chapter 43

Guardian Angel

Chapter 43

Rick's throat tightens at the wounded sheen in his daughter's eyes. "I'm sorry, Pumpkin. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."

"Are you sure Bennie didn't make a mistake?" Alexis presses. "maybe it was some other student."

Castle's eyes close as he shakes his head. "No, it was Dylan Fulton. Bennie was quite familiar with the incident. It's the sort of thing every institution dreads. The board conducted a thorough investigation before taking any action."

"Alexis, if there's anything I know from experience, it's that the worst people can also be charming and talented. They don't have flashing lights or signs on their chests saying, 'Sexual Predator.' And unfortunately, if victims won't testify, there's nothing law enforcement can do," Kate explains. "That's why women have to be aware, and your father had good reason to ask questions."

Alexis swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I get it, Detective Beckett, and Dad, I'm not mad at you. But I don't want to lose my music. I've never met a teacher as good as Dylan. What am I supposed to do now?"

Rick pushes a damp red strand off his daughter's face. "Bennie said he'd get me a list of Juilliard students and alums — safe ones. We can vet them together until you find the right fit. If you decide on someone you really like, I'll even offer a signing bonus. Sound good?"

"I guess," Alexis allows. "I'm going to go upstairs now and practice."

"You do that, sweetheart. I'll let you know when Bennie's list arrives."

Kate reaches for Rick's hand as Alexis retreats to her room. "That had to be tough."

"Seeing Alexis miserable is always like a punch in the gut," Rick admits. "Want to share a bottle of white wine? I have one that should go with your potato salad."

Kate brushes a quick kiss across Rick's lips. "Sure, Babe. Sounds nice."

* * *

Jared averts his eyes as he walks past the portrait of his father, Saul Toch, in the lobby of the Toch building. He hates the painting, but it's a necessary prop to support the story of the wildcatter who laid the foundation for the Toch fortune. Besides Charles, only one other person knows the truth — William H. Bracken.

Jared can remember the day a Bracken staffer approached him and his brother. The events run like a movie in his mind.

_Jared and Charles were in D.C. to testify before the Energy Committee on the advantages of fracking. They had maintained a cooperative relationship of sorts with Bracken in New York. Still, in Washington, the newly minted congressman, Bill Bracken, had suddenly become a bulldog, attacking witnesses with the hard questions on environmental issues. At least that was the role he played in public. But after the hearing, the staffer invited the Tochs to a private meeting with the congressman to discuss possible common interests. Jared immediately dismissed the idea as a chance for Bracken to dig for more dirt on petroleum interests. He'd endured enough punishment. But Charles wanted to go through with it._

_Bracken dismissed his staffer from the room and waited a few seconds after the door had closed behind him before he spoke. "One of my constituents approached me recently with some fascinating documents she found on a ranch she inherited in Oklahoma. She wanted to fix the place up and turn it into a refuge for mistreated and abandoned animals."_

_"A worthy goal," Charles comments. "I'm very fond of my hounds. Excellent hunting dogs."_

_My constituent was pretty good at hunting things down, too," Bracken explains. "She was going through some documents stored in an old strongbox and guess what she found?"_

_Jared swallows, edging forward in his chair. "What?"_

_"Deeds and drilling rights for parcels of land in Texas, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and California. What's interesting, Jared, is that those documents included large parts of the Permian Basin, where the Toch Petroleum Division has some of its highest profit operations. Your father started drilling on some of the parcels in question before the two of you took over the company. But the strange thing is, I've never been able to find the records of the transfer of ownership or rights for any of those properties. And the original owner died in a tragic accident."_

_"Who else knows about those documents?" Charles demands._

_"The three of us," Bracken replies, "And of course, my constituent who found them. But you know, the work she's doing while noble, can be quite dangerous."_

_"Are you suggesting there might be another fatal accident?" Charles presses._

_Bracken shrugs, smiling. "Anything is possible. We can discuss mutually beneficial outcomes." _

A shudder passes through Jared as his thoughts return to the present.

* * *

"Did Bennie send the list yet, Dad?" Alexis asks.

"Just got here." Rick points to the screen of his laptop. "Take a look. Any of these names strike a chord?"

Alexis rapidly scans the entries. "I recognize this one. She was a soloist at the concert we went to in the Hamptons last summer. Remember?"

Rick struggles to recall a concert in which he was half asleep. He'd been up writing most of the night before. I'm not sure. What did she play?"

"The Hot Canary. It has all those high notes like a bird chirping. You said you thought it was cute."

Castle pictures a tall woman in an ankle-length hot pink dress grinning behind her violin. "I do remember her. She had a panache that reminded me of your gram - when she was younger, of course. I have an email address for her. You want me to send an inquiry?"

"I think I should do it," Alexis decides. "After what happened with Dylan, I should take responsibility for checking out a new teacher."

Rick feathers a kiss on her forehead. "A teenager who wants to take responsibility, how did I get so lucky?"

Alexis pecks her father's cheek. "The trait must have skipped a couple of generations."

* * *

Joyce Meacham extends her hand to her visitor. "Mr. Fahrenfree. It was good of you to come in."

"I appreciate you agreeing to meet me in the evening, Ms. Meacham. I had to turn in my piece for the Ledger on a deadline."

"Of course," Joyce acknowledges, gesturing David to a chair in front of her desk. "I wanted to talk to you about the Toch Brothers."

David resists the urge to tell her that it's about time. "What did you want to know, Ms. Meacham?"

"Are you aware of their relationship with William Bracken?"

"May I assume you're asking about something other than the campaign donations they are legally required to disclose?"

Joyce poises a pen above a yellow legal pad. "Yes, you may assume that, Mr. Fahrenfree."

"Then this may be a long night, Ms. Meacham. The Tochs have been funneling money to Mr. Bracken for almost two decades."

"Then, by all means, Mr. Fahrenfree, start at the beginning. What was the initial nature of the relationship?"

"A drug dealer named Vulcan Simmons, who was paying Bracken to keep the law off his back, needed a laundromat for his money. The Tochs stepped in, taking in the funds as an investment in an oil development deal and then paying distributions to Bracken. It was a lot faster and more liquid than the usual scams with real estate."

"Do you have documentation, Mr. Fahrenfree?"

Ms. Meacham," David responds, "I have to rent space in a warehouse for all my files on the Tochs. I would be delighted to give you a tour. When would you like to have a look?"

Joyce catches a glance at her watch. "Mr. Fahrenfree, there's no time like the present."


	44. Chapter 44

Guardian Angel

Chapter 44

"Kate, you're off from work tomorrow, aren't you?" Castle inquires.

"I have to be, Babe. We're not allowed to accumulate comp time. Is there something you want to do?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch at Le Cirque."

Kate's eyebrows arch. "I thought you wanted to stay away from that place because of the leaks to Page 6."

"It's the leaks to Page 6 that I'm counting on," Castle explains. "There are other musically inclined vulnerable girls out there who might be desperate to take lessons from a young and handsome violin teacher. I thought that you and I could discuss the Dylan Fulton matter — loudly. With luck, it will turn up as a blind item. Dylan will be outed, and his potential victims will be protected."

"And maybe girls he's preyed on will know they weren't alone and have the strength to come forward," Kate adds. "It's a good idea. So, how's Le Cirque's Châteaubriand?"

"I've had better béarnaise sauce," Rick admits, "but the meat's not bad, not bad at all. So it's a date?"

Wrapping her arms around him, Kate grabs handfuls of firm muscle. "Count on it, but I think I need to head home now."

"Why?" Rick asks as she disengages herself.

"Because with what Alexis is going through, the last thing she needs is seeing her father cuddling up to his girlfriend."

"Is that what you are, Kate, my girlfriend? That word makes it sound like we're a couple of kids making out in the back of an old Chevy."

"You're the writer, Castle. You have a better description?"

"Lots of them: light of my life, partner, lover. I like that last one the best — if it's true."

Kate's fingertips trace Rick's lips. "It is true, Babe."

Rick pulls her close for a deep kiss before stepping back. "I wish you could stay, but you're right. Tonight is not the best night to parade our relationship in front of Alexis."

"Anyway," Kate adds, "I want to put together some clothes and stuff to keep here so I don't have to run back to my apartment in the morning when I do stay. That is, I mean, if you don't mind."

"Mind?" Rick echoes. "I will spend the evening ruthlessly paring down my wardrobe to afford you drawer and closet space."

Kate strokes his sleeve. Just don't get rid of your plaid shirts. I like them."

Rick solemnly holds up his right hand. "I won't lay a finger on a single lumberjacky garment."

* * *

With her eyes focused on her book, Alexis' forkful of cheer-up waffle almost misses her mouth. "What has you so fascinated, Pumpkin?" Rick asks.

"Sherlock Holmes. I'm rereading your complete collection of the stories. Last night I started checking out Holly Maigret, the violinist we talked about, before sending her an email. And it helped to stop in the middle to play my violin for a while. It focused my mind or something. I want to see if Conan Doyle gives any clues about how playing the violin affects the ability to think things out."

"As embedded as he is in the consciousness of our culture, Holmes was a fictional character," Rick points out.

Alexis throws him a dark look. "I know that Dad, but Einstein wasn't, and the biography I read about him said he would forget to eat or wear socks, but he never forgot his violin. He refused to go anywhere without it. And he may have been better at figuring things out than anyone in the world."

"I'd buy that," Castle agrees, "and I get the feeling there's a point to your exploration of the nexus of musicianship and leaps of logic."

"There is. A lot of the kids at school have already zeroed in on what they want to do with their lives. They're taking classes and picking activities to get into the highest-rated colleges for their fields. And you knew what you wanted to do when you were five years younger than I am now. But I've been interested in everything. I have a passion for music, but I love the way all the other stuff fits together, so I figured out what might cover everything."

"You want to be the world's first human encyclopedia? Oh wait, that's probably Ken Jennings."

"Dad, I don't want to be a Jeopardy champion; I want to be a detective."

Castle's stomach jumps into his throat. "Like Kate? Alexis, bad guys shoot at police detectives."

"No. I like Detective Beckett, and I think she's really smart, but I'm thinking of a detective like Holmes who puts together a lot of little things no one else notices to solve cases. Maybe I could have my own agency someday, Castle Investigations."

"That's," Rick squeaks. He swallows and tries again. "That's an ambitious goal, but if it's where your heart is leading you, I'll support you all the way. You know that. So, what did my budding sleuth find out about her prospective violin teacher?"

"That she was a prodigy, even more than Dylan. There's video on YouTube going back to when she was three, and she already had a little violin. Sometimes she played with other members of her family. Her parents are both science teachers. She went to the School of the Performing Arts before she went on to Juilliard. Her older brother went to MIT. He's an astrophysicist. But the whole family still plays music together when they can."

"It sounds like learning about the Maigrets helped you clarify your personal goals," Castle observes.

"It did. And at least now I won't feel like I'm choosing my electives and clubs at random."

"Don't be so quick to knock random," Castle advises. "You can't tell where the strangest factoids will lead. I've found that out working with Kate. And you never know; you might decide to be on Jeopardy someday."

"I doubt that, Dad. It would mess with my ability to go undercover."

"Yeah," Castle concedes, "it might at that."

* * *

Joyce Meacham reaches for a tissue just in time to catch a sneeze. David Fahrenfree may spend a lot of time studying his files but doesn't appear to do much dusting in their repository. Access to the treasure trove of information, however, is more than worth an allergy attack.

Obsessive Fahrenfree uncovered suspicious transaction after suspicious transaction, in many cases, just by calling and asking. The money laundering is clear enough, with some of the cleaned up cash reaching Bracken's coffers. Joyce will be attaching as much staff as she can to study what falls within the statute of limitations. That will pare down the financial crimes somewhat. But for anything tied in with a murder, the statute won't apply.

So far, in cooperation with Karnacki, she's just scratching the surface. At least some of Coonan's contracts from Bracken lead back to the Tochs. Maddox's assignments may as well. Joyce wonders how much she can squeeze out of her budget to take on more people. If ever there was a time to do it, this is it. Bringing down the Tochs and Bracken will change the criminal landscape.

* * *

Rick gazes around the dining room as the Maître 'D at Le Cirque ushers him and Kate to a table. He notes with satisfaction the columnist from the Post sitting two tables away. The show he and Kate put on will be hard to miss. A server approaches with warm bread and menus featuring the Châteaubriand as one of the daily specials. Maybe the chef has improved the béarnaise sauce. If not, Rick can take home leftover beef in a doggy bag to use in his morning scramble. Perhaps Kate will be able to share his creation.


	45. Chapter 45

Guardian Angel

Chapter 45

"I'm surprised you got your ass over here, Karnacki," Coonan remarks. "You've been sending your lackeys."

"Those A.D.A.s all have strings of convictions even longer than the list of murders you've committed, Coonan," Karnacki retorts. "But I thought I'd tell you myself that all the D.N.A. results from your knife are finally in. I'd be impressed if I wasn't so ready to puke. But here's where we are. There are a couple of victims you neglected to mention when we put our deal together. As of this moment, that agreement is null and void. You'll be ending up in the deepest, darkest hole the judge can find unless you give me a damn good reason to recommend otherwise."

"What else do you want, Karnacki?" Coonan demands. "I already gave you Bracken. You have him cold."

"I need you to help out on another matter that's connected — very connected. What do you know about the Toch Brothers?"

"Other than they're poisoning the planet?" Coonan queries. "Hey, I have to drink the water and breathe the air like everyone else," he clarifies as Karnacki's jaw slackens.

"Specifically about their relationship with Bracken," Karnacki explains.

"The only relationships Bracken had that I cared about were the ones involving the money to pay me," Coonan declares. "I'm a professional. He was a client, not a pal."

"So, how about where he got that money?" Karnacki presses. "It sure as hell didn't come from a public servant's salary."

"I might know something about that. Bracken's money transfers to me didn't always originate from the same account. As long as I could verify they were for his jobs, I didn't care. But if you can trace those transactions, you may find Toch money at the other end. I can tell you about a few of my assignments the accounts in question bankrolled."

"Coonan, if what you tell me pans out, you may just buy yourself an hour or two of daylight."

* * *

"Do you think we were convincing?" Kate wonders as Rick pulls his car away from the spot at the curb where Le Cirque's valet delivered it.

"From the way the Post's columnist was scribbling, our little discussion at least qualified for a blurb," Castle assumes. "The other tabloids will probably pick it up, and I'm hoping a serious journalist or two will be interested. Once the stories are out there, Dylan will seem a lot less charming."

"When will Alexis get a chance to meet the woman she wants as her new teacher?"

"Ms. Maigret has a gig tonight at Steinway Hall. Alexis and I will be taking her out for coffee afterward. Would you care to accompany us?"

"I'm not sure I should, Babe," Kate confides. "She'd be working with Alexis, and I assume you'll be picking up the tab, but I'm not involved."

"Kate, you're a cop. That makes you a professional vetter of sorts. Alexis will believe you if you tell her that you detect warning signs. Of course, I'd love your company, but I honestly think that having you there will help."

"As long as Alexis thinks so too."

"When she comes home from school, you can ask her."

* * *

Alexis bounces through the door of the loft, spying Kate. "Oh, Detective Beckett, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to ask you about something." She pulls a brochure out of her backpack and hands it to Kate. "What do you think of this?"

"Introduction to forensics, a summer program," Kate reads. "Hmm, you get to learn the basics of the lab tests and practice on mock crime scenes. If you take this, Alexis, you'll never watch a crime show on T.V. without yelling at the screen again."

"I already do that, Detective Beckett. I've had enough chemistry to know when a lab is set up wrong. They put equipment that would be ruined by heat, over Bunsen burners. And on T.V. a lot of the chemicals are blue, although hardly any of them would be in real life. Gram says that's a decision by the set dressers so the scenes will photograph well, but it looks pretty stupid to me. I'd love to know how crime scene investigation actually works."

"I only understand the basics I need to be a good cop," Kate admits, "like not contaminating a crime scene, but forensics is vital to solving cases. If you're interested, I don't see why you shouldn't take the course — if it's all right with your father. And Alexis, you might as well call me Kate. It's quicker than 'Detective Beckett.'"

"All right, Kate, do you know where Dad is?"

"In his office. He got a sudden inspiration for a scene in his book and wanted to get it down while it was fresh in his mind. I came out here to make some coffee. We can take it to him together if you want to ask him about this summer," Kate proposes.

"Thanks, Kate."

* * *

Jared strides urgently into the smoking-room of the venerable Stokes Club, catching his brother just before he lights a Cuban cigar. "Charles, we need to talk now. And not in here," he continues, waving at the smoke.

Charles scowls, caressing the rolled tobacco with his thumb. "I need this."

"You'll need it more after you hear what I'm going to tell you," Jared argues.

"Fine," Charles agrees grudgingly, gently placing his treasure in his coat pocket. "We can use the card parlor. No one is in there this time of day."

Charles settles into a leather chair softened with age while Jared sits straight up across from him at a small table. "What's so important?" Charles demands.

"Our people spotted David Fahrenfree with Joyce Meacham, and a truckload of files were delivered to the offices of the S.D.N.Y. We need an exit strategy, Charles."

"What do you mean, an exit strategy?" Charles questions. "Did you call the lawyers?"

"Of course, I called the f***ing lawyers. They'll be on top of it, but they also said that if Meacham is serious, she'll freeze our accounts. And the feds can reach out to tie things up overseas, too. We have to pull everything we can out and put it where they can't reach it. And we have to get out of the country as fast as we can. We may even have to stay out."

Charles rolls his cold cigar between his fingers. "I think you're making way too much of this. The feds have tried investigating us before. Hell, attorneys general from half the states in the country have tried at one time or another. We've always come out of it fine."

"But no one had Bracken before, and they didn't have Fahrenfree's records either. We're in trouble, Charles, and if we don't start moving now, we're going to get caught with our pants down and no money to pay the damned lawyers to pull them up again."

"So, what do you want to do?" Charles asks.

"Transfer as much as we can to accounts in Nevis. The banks there don't cooperate with the U.S. I want to invest in diamonds too. We might lose money reselling them, but they're a lot more portable than gold. Then we get the hell out and figure out the rest later. We can use our place in the Maldives, at least for now.

"What about all our corporate interests?" Charles wonders. "We can't move our fracking operations or our paper mills."

"They won't be any good to us in jail," Jared points out. "Look, Charles, it will be easier if we do this together, but I'm going with or without you. I'm not spending the rest of my life behind bars."

The cigar slips from Charles' fingers. "All right. Set things in motion."


	46. Chapter 46

Guardian Angel

Chapter 46

Leaning forward on her elbows, Alexis gazes at Holly Maigret. "You put so much emotion into the Mendelssohn; it was like the cry of his people. And then to switch that way to the 'Devil Went Down to Georgia,' I don't know how you did it."

Holly smiles over her cappuccino. "After the Mendelssohn, I needed a little Charlie Daniels. Music can communicate every emotion better than speech, but I prefer the joyful ones. Even Mendelssohn switched up in the next movement. He couldn't stay in the dumps that long either. So how does playing the violin make you feel, Alexis? Happy?"

"Uh-huh," Alexis agrees, "but more than that. I feel sharper, more focused."

Holly takes another sip of her spicy brew. "That's interesting. And aside from improving your technique, what would you want from me as your teacher?"

"Someone who feels the music, who's excited about it instead of just playing it, who shares my excitement."

"And how excited are you, Alexis? If it's a choice between putting in the hours and effort to master a piece, or spending your time with your friends, and I'm including boys in there, what will you do?"

"I'll work on the piece," Alexis declares.

"If I take you on as a student, I'll hold you to that," Holly assures her. "I'm going to have to hear you play, and then we'll decide. I have an hour at 4 p.m. tomorrow."

"I have…," Alexis begins, "um, never mind. Where do you want me to play?"

"I want to see you in your natural habitat. Your home will be fine. Send me the address."

"I will," Alexis promises.

* * *

"That has got to be the strangest job interview I've ever seen," Kate remarks, slipping into the N.Y.P.D. T-shirt she sleeps in. It's like Holly was interviewing Alexis. And she didn't even mention money."

"I give her points for that," Johanna comments.

"Did that raise your detective's antennae?" Rick asks, appreciatively studying Kate's curves through the thin cotton of her well-worn garment.

"I don't know, Babe," Kate admits, shrugging, "and I'll be on shift when Holly comes tomorrow. Will you be here?"

"I'll make it my business to be. Aside from serving as Alexis' cheering section, I will be the one signing the checks if Holly takes her on. I'll give you a full report on what happens. But now," Rick proposes, pulling back the sheet, "we could see about making some music of our own."

"Yes, we could," Kate agrees as Johanna shimmers from sight.

* * *

As George Medford approaches her desk, Joyce Meacham looks up from her staff's morning reports, quirking an inquiring brow. "Something?"

"We tried putting a hold on the accounts of the Toch Brothers, but several of them had already been drained, and transfers were pending on the rest — at least the ones we know about."

Joyce taps her pen on her desk. "They're getting ready to run. Shut down every funding source you can, yesterday!"

"Yes, Ma'am," George acknowledges and trots toward the door.

Joyce picks up her landline. She'll have to coordinate with the F.B.I. to keep the Tochs from leaving the country. That means stopping them from getting on a plane or a boat. It won't be easy, and they may already have a head start. While she's waiting to connect to the F.B.I. director, she uses her cell to text Karnacki. "Tochs on the run."

* * *

Castle adds a paperclip to a chain he's making before looking up at Kate. "What's the text you're staring at about?"

"It's from Harbrough. She said Karnacki told her to give me a heads up that the Toch Brothers may be trying to get out of the country."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I can't do anything. They could be headed for a private airstrip, the harbor, anywhere. With the S.D.N.Y on their tail, the F.B.I. will be on it."

"But you sure as hell would love to be there when the F.B.I. grabs them."

"I would," Kate admits. "But it will be big news. Someone will get video."

"Ooh, maybe we could do a mashup, intercutting you putting the cuffs on someone with the Tochs'capture. Alexis' friend Paige is really good at that kind of thing. She's made some pretty funny stuff."

"Alexis may not be seeing as much of Paige," Kate speculates.

"Do you know something I don't?" Castle queries.

"Last night, Alexis told me that she has to blow off a pizza-study thing with Paige to audition for Holly. If she has to put in the kind of time with her violin that Holly expects, it may make a serious dent in her social life."

"My mother is always talking about making sacrifices for her art, but I can't say I've seen her doing much of that. I'm glad Alexis could talk to you about it. Maybe she sees you as a kindred spirit."

"Or maybe just a friend who's been through teenage girl angst. But anyway, if Alexis hooks up with Holly, she'll be going through some changes."

Rick props his chin in his hand. "That could be tough."

"Changes usually are," Kate agrees, as Johanna looks on nodding.

"I need everyone's attention," Montgomery announces, heading out of his office and into the bullpen. "The F.B.I. is conducting a large operation in the city. All airports will be involved; also, the river district that's within our jurisdiction. The feds may require backup, but it's more likely that we'll be tripping over them. So pay attention to your own business and do your best to stay out of their way unless specifically instructed otherwise. Beckett, Castle, I need to see you for a moment."

"Close the door," Montgomery instructs as Kate and Rick join him in his office.

"What's on your mind, sir?" Kate asks.

"Coonan is going to elocute today. I'll need you on standby in case we have a body drop or a complication with the F.B.I., but I thought the two of you might want to be in court. The sonofabitch should be starting in about an hour, that's when Karnacki is scheduled to be there. He's prosecuting the case himself."

"I appreciate you telling us Captain, thank you," Kate responds. "I do want to be there."

"As do I," Castle adds.

"You'd better get going then," Montgomery advises. "The press keeps an eye on Karnacki. They'll be clogging the entrances. And try to stay off Page 6. That goes especially for you, Castle."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Judge Ray Keller hates circuses. As a child, he never thought clowns were funny, and he has no patience for animal abuse. He likes having a show take place in his courtroom even less than under a big top, but the appearance of the D.A. makes one almost inevitable. However, he can understand why Karnacki wants to do it.

Keller reviewed Coonan's file. It's the stuff about which books and movies are written — horror movies. As Coonan outlines every kill, the recess Ray calls won't be for lunch. He doubts that he'll be eating dinner either.

His clerk knocks on the door of his chambers. "Judge Keller, the courtroom is filling up, and Karnacki's already here."

"Fine," Keller acknowledges, "we'll start in about five minutes. Have they brought Coonan in yet?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Tell the bailiff to make sure he's fully shackled and that the restraints are tight. This is going to go on for a while, and I want everyone to stay alert."

"I'll take care of it, Your Honor."

* * *

Castle watches as four guards bring Coonan into the courtroom. His ankles are hobbled and his cuffs attached to the chain at his waist, but the expression on his face is pure evil. As the blood drains from Kate's face, Rick reaches for her hand.


	47. Chapter 47

Guardian Angel

Chapter 47

Johanna hadn't shivered since her blood pooling on cracked cement drained the warmth from her dying body. She hadn't even been aware that she could. But she's shivering now, as Coonan describes how he took her life and those of so many others. Katie doesn't know her mother is observing the courtroom. Johanna didn't want to make things worse for her daughter by becoming visible. She only wishes that just this once, she could reach out again, to hold and be held. The Father will bless Rick for being at Katie's side. He looks almost as horrified as Katie does, but he's unflinchingly offering her his strength. Even in the midst of the corrosive words spewing from Coonan, Johanna's convinced that guiding Katie toward Rick was the right thing to do.

Bruises will color his fingers later, but right now, Rick doesn't give a damn if Kate crushes them. It's gut-wrenching enough listening to Coonan detailing how took the lives of strangers, but if the bastard had taken the life of someone he loved, Rick can't imagine how he'd bear the pain of hearing him describe how he did it.

That Coonan clearly states whom he took payment from and committed his murders on behalf of is the saving grace of the moment. Not every killing was at the behest of William Bracken, but a large number of them were. The story will be splashed across every paper and flood through every media outlet in the country even before the evening news cycle begins. The human plague masquerading as a savior will be revealed for what he is.

* * *

Fingering a plastic spoon, Kate eyes the soup Rick purchased for her at the courthouse cafeteria. Chicken noodle is about as unthreatening as a meal can be, but she still can't cope with eating it. Rick seems similarly unenthusiastic about the contents of his lunch container. "Maybe we should take these to the homeless who camp out a couple of blocks down," he suggests. "At least someone can enjoy them, and I, for one, can use some fresh air."

"So can I, Kate agrees. "Judge Keller said 45 minutes, so we should be back in time."

"How much longer do you think Coonan's confession is going to go on?" Castle wonders.

"Babe, if it's too much, you don't have to stay. I'll be all right."

"No, you won't," Rick argues as unseen, Johanna agrees. "I'm not about to abandon you to deal with the poison coming out of that monster's mouth by yourself. I was just thinking about Alexis' audition for Holly."

Kate claps her hand to her mouth. "Oh, God! I forgot! Four o'clock, right? But that's hours from now. Coonan should finish by then. And if he doesn't, you should go anyway. I can manage. Getting Holly for a teacher is really important for Alexis. She should have you there for support."

Rick presses his lips to the tips of Kate's fingers. "You're terrific. You know that?"

"I don't feel very terrific right now, but I think the walk will help."

* * *

Mercifully, Coonan's listing of his depravities ends at 3 p.m., and Judge Keller announces a sentencing date. "You should get back to the loft," Kate urges Rick.

"Are you coming?"

"I'm still on shift," she reminds him. "Besides, I want to monitor whatever news comes into the precinct about hunting down the Tochs. I should be with you by five-thirty."

"Just in time to join in celebration or consolation," Castle notes.

"You can text me to stop at the bakery for a cake or just pick up chocolate for comfort," Kate offers.

"Deal," Castle agrees.

* * *

Alexis pages through her collection of sheet music, perplexed. Given the range of pieces Ms. Maigret performed, Alexis has no idea what will truly appeal to her. Holly might even decide to test Alexis' sight-reading skills by bringing something the teen has never played before. At least Alexis can warm up before the moment of truth. She knows the piece she learned for her last recital by heart. If nothing else, playing the familiar notes will calm her down. The last thing she needs is shaky fingers.

Five minutes before Holly Maigret promised to appear, Rick arrives at the loft. He attempts, unsuccessfully, to joke Alexis out of her nervousness. Her face is even paler than usual, but the teen finally smiles when the doorbell rings.

Immediately upon arriving, Holly turns to Rick. "Mr. Castle, I think that right now, it would be easier if Alexis plays for me without any distractions. We may talk later."

Rick looks toward Alexis, who nods. "All right, Ms. Maigret," he agrees. "I'll be in my office if you need me for anything."

Holly dismissively waves a long-fingered hand. "We'll be fine. Alexis, where's your violin?"

Alexis motions Holly up the stairs, and Rick retreats to his writer's domain. He feels around in the middle drawer of his desk until he retrieves a spongy, brightly colored ball. There are things he'd much rather squeeze to relieve stress, but Mr. Happy will have to do for now. Music Rick can't recall ever hearing before floats down from Alexis' room. He crosses the fingers of the hand that isn't holding the ball.

* * *

Kate's been checking her phone for texts ever since four-thirty, but the only one that's appeared since she returned from the courthouse was from Ms. Harbrough. It was encouraging news. Karnacki passed on everything Coonan said, to Joyce Meacham. There will be federal charges against Bracken as well as local ones, and some of them may tie in with the Tochs if they were conspirators or a source of funding for Coonan's contracts. Somehow that all makes sense, as if a master plan were coming together somehow. Maybe one is. "Mom, are you here?" she calls softly.

Johanna appears in front of Kate's desk. "I am now. What do you need?"

"I just wanted to ask, I mean, I wonder if what's happening now is what was supposed to happen."

"The Father doesn't share His plans with me, Kate. I don't think even the archangels know them unless He gives them a mission. And I don't believe He sends murderers after innocent people. But I've seen that He can use anyone for good, no matter how much evil they may have done. Coonan and Maddox might be the means by which Bracken and the Tochs are caught in traps of their own making. And The Father may have used my death and the work of good people like you and Rick to help that along."

"I hope you're right Mom and…," Kate's phone dings. "That should be from Rick." Kate's eyes brighten as she reads Castle's message. "He says, 'Bring cake.'"

"I assume that means that Alexis' audition went well."

"I think so — unless Alexis just wants to push Holly's face in it."

Johanna chuckles. "That sounds more like something you would have done as a teenager, than Alexis. But just in case, you should make it a chocolate cake."

"I'm planning on it."

* * *

Lying next to Rick, Kate gazes at glimmers of city lights that sneak past the curtains and cavort on the ceiling of his bedroom. "The glow coming off Alexis tonight could have lit up the whole block. She's ecstatic that Holly will be teaching her."

"She is indeed," Rick agrees. "And she's going through all the notes she's been keeping on her college choices, and doing some heavy re-thinking. She wants to find a place where she can keep up her music and also pursue the studies she'll need to become a detective."

"That can't be a very long list."

"Probably not," Castle agrees. "I just hope it includes at least one institution in New York."

Kate snuggles into his shoulder. "You don't let go easily, do you?"

Rick pulls her close. "When it's someone I care about, I hold on tight."


	48. Chapter 48

Guardian Angel

Chapter 48

"Damnit, Charles, wake up!" Jared hisses, shaking his brother.

Charles coughs, rubbing his eyes. "What?" His fingertips find the low thread-count sheet below him. "Where the hell are we?"

"The cabin on Long Island that I told you about last night. It's held by one of our shell companies," Jared explains. "They use this place for executives who like to think they're roughing it. By the time we made it here last night, I practically had to carry you in."

"We're not staying, are we?" Charles queries, gazing with distaste at the rough-hewn furnishings.

"You obviously don't remember much of what I said on the way out here," Jared realizes. "Look, we're walking distance from a pier. A boat will be picking us up," he consults his Rolex, "in about an hour, to take us to a ship in international waters. So get cleaned up. We can eat when we get to the ship. The captain specializes in very discerning clientele."

Charles grunts as his stomach rumbles. "He'd better have a decent chef."

"Award-winning," Jared assures him.

* * *

"Meacham's intel better be good," Special Agent Wilding remarks surveying the cabin. "That place doesn't look like anywhere the Tochs would turn up."

"She claims she got a tip from a consultant who specializes in digging up the Tochs' hidden assets. Also, A car rented with cash was spotted heading out here last night, and the company that uses it as a retreat says they didn't assign it to any of their people. Satellite footage shows a ship waiting just outside U.S. enforcement limits, and the coast guard reports that the vessel has a habit of conducting questionable business. It all adds up. They're here," Special Agent Ferrar concludes.

"So why aren't we rushing the place?" Wilding asks.

Ferrar grits his teeth. "Because Charles Toch is a hunter. He may have a rifle or other weapons in there. It's much better to wait for them to go to the dock to pick up their ride to the ship. We'll be able to appraise the situation and move in accordingly."

Wilding slaps at a mosquito attacking his neck. "God, I hate the woods. I hope they move their asses."

Ferrar digs an insect repellant wipe out of a pocket on his Kevlar vest. "Here, on me."

* * *

"You ready?" Jared demands impatiently.

Charles reaches for a rifle he'd refused to leave behind in the city. "I just need to grab my Winchester."

"What are you going to do with that on a ship?" Jared demands, rolling his lips in disgust. "You should leave it now. We'll have less to carry."

"The hell I will. You'll take it from my cold dead hand."

"Fine," Jared concedes. "Let's just get going."

Through a pair of binoculars, Ferrar spots the door of the cabin opening. "It's them, and they're coming out. "F**k! Charles is armed." He grabs his walkie-talkie. "Everyone hold position."

Charles stills. "Something's out there."

"A deer?" Jared questions.

Charles shakes his head. "No, the birds wouldn't be this quiet for a deer. A predator."

"Maybe another hunter," Jared suggests. "But I don't see anyone, and we don't have time to worry about it. We need to get to our boat before someone starts asking questions about what it's doing here. Besides, I thought you were hungry."

"I am." Charles grasps his rifle more tightly. "All right, let's go."

Ferrar's walkie-talkie crackles. "There's a boat coming toward the dock."

"Proceed with the plan," Ferrar orders.

Milty Credence skillfully steers his boat alongside a wooden pier, before cutting the engine and tying up. He doesn't need to check his watch, he can feel the time, but he checks anyway. As he sensed, his passengers are due in 10 minutes. He gives some thought to opening his old-fashioned thermos of coffee but doesn't know when he'll get a chance to take a leak. He's reaching for the ham sandwich he brought along when a man in fisherman's clothes, approaches. "I need your boat."

"Sorry, already booked for this morning," Milty demurs. "I can give you a number for a buddy of mine."

The faux angler flashes his badge. "Special Agent Collins, FBI. Believe me, you don't want that booking. We're after the two men you'd be transporting. If you take them out to a ship, you'll be an accomplice in their flight to avoid prosecution."

"I don't need any trouble," Milty protests.

"No, you don't," Collins concurs, pointing east. "Take a hike that way. Our guys will watch out for you. This operation should be over soon."

"All right," Milty agrees, climbing out of his craft. "You watch out for my boat, too."

"I'll do my best," Collins promises.

* * *

Jared leads the way down to the dock, where Collins looks up from the boat and waves. "Something's wrong. There was a picture of Milty Creedence, who's supposed to take us to the ship, on his website. This guy's at least 20 years younger."

Charles raises his rifle as he and Jared approach the boat. "You're not Milty Creedence. Who the f**k are you?"

"Move in! Move in!" Ferrar commands.

Collins holds up his hands and smiles. "No need for that. I'm Lionel Credence. Dad was under the weather this morning, so he sent me. Don't worry. I'll get you where you're going: that ship that's waiting for you, right? Easy trip. Come aboard, but put down the rifle. This boat won't go far with a hole in her."

Charles hesitantly lowers his gun and follows Jared into the boat. Collins grins. "It will just be a moment until I get the motor started again." He points toward the ocean. "Wow, look at that flock of seagulls coming in. Someone must have dumped a load of garbage to attract them."

While the Tochs attempt to follow Collin's gaze to imaginary birds, Collins snatches Charles' rifle. Ferrar's team converges on the boat.

* * *

"Turn on the TV," Montgomery instructs, charging out of his office. "Get ZNN."

Ryan grabs the remote control from its pocket on the wall, and Kate and Rick rivet their eyes to the screen. "We have a breaking story," Blake Tapper announces, "related to the startling unfolding of the Bracken saga. An hour ago, the FBI took Charles and Jared Tochs into custody for alleged fraud, money laundering, and solicitation of homicide, among other charges. U.S. Attorney, Joyce Meacham, credits journalist David Fahrenfree's long years of work investigating the Toch brothers for evidence leading to the arrests. ZNN will be issuing updates throughout the day, and Fahrenfree will be Coop's guest tonight at eight Eastern time."

Montgomery draws his thumb across his throat, signaling Ryan to turn off the broadcast. "I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that this puts an end to the feds' current manhunt. And I have another announcement. Due to the hard work of this precinct on the Coonan case and an outstanding job by Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle uncovering Bracken's ties to the Toch Brothers, Commissioner Tuohy is giving us special consideration. The new clock-out rules are suspended, and overtime will be considered on a case by case basis."

"We should celebrate," Castle declares to Kate, as applause echoes through the cavernous room.

"Babe, we just shoveled down cake to celebrate with Alexis last night. Much more celebrating like that, and we're going to blow up like balloons."

"And by we, I assume you mean me," Castle grins. "You just work it off, kicking ass. However, the celebration I have in mind involves burning calories, not consuming them."

The tip of Kate's tongue rounds her lips as she locks gazes with Rick. "You know, we could start before we get back to the loft. There is that empty office, and I'm due a coffee break."

"Detective Beckett, I do believe we both deserve a break today. But I'm going to skip the coffee."

"Yeah, Kate agrees. "Me too."


	49. Chapter 49

Guardian Angel

Chapter 49

Even in the comforting circle of Rick's arms, Kate can't sleep. Everything she's been striving for since her mother's death is coming to fruition. Coonan, Bracken, the Tochs, will all be behind bars for the rest of their lives. Coonan might gain a few perks for flipping on Bracken, and Bracken will probably try to earn some privileges by throwing the Tochs under the bus, but none of them will ever walk free again.

So now what? She became a cop with one goal, and she's achieving it. Of course, many victims have gone without justice for years, even decades. The need for the skills of a good homicide cop hasn't decreased much. Maybe her mother's case was only a start, and it's time to attack all the others waiting in the wings. As she finally feels her body starting to relax, she decides she can think more about her path forward in the morning."

* * *

Taking the last bite from a plate of scrambled eggs, Alexis rolls her eyes as Rick retrieves the morning paper. "Dad, I can't believe you're still bothering with the dead tree version of the Ledger. Everything that's in there is online, extra content too."

"Consider it nostalgia," Castle declares. "I like the feel and smell of the paper. Besides, we recycle it, and you can't make a hat or a boat out of an online story. You can't wrap fish and chips in one, either."

Alexis wrinkles her nose. "I've never figured out why anyone would want to."

"That's beside the point," Castle asserts. "Print newspapers are still essential threads in the fabric of our society." He scans the story below the fold. "Kate, this says that Lou Karnacki is going to retire. He's turning over the prosecution of Bracken, and recommendations for Coonan's sentencing to his staff until Mayor Weldon appoints a temporary replacement. He claimed that he wants to spend more time with his family."

"That's what every politician facing a scandal says when they're trying to slip out from under," Kate notes.

"Bracken wallowed in the mud in this city for a long time," Rick muses. "I wonder if he tried to blackmail Karnacki with something."

Kate reaches for her coffee mug. "If he did, it backfired. Karnacki went after him with guns blazing. And if the noble D.A. decided it was worth ending his career, he went out with a bang. That's a lot better than a whimper."

Castle leans over the counter to plant a kiss on the top of Kate's head. "Ah, a T.S. Elliot fan. But speaking of his celebrated 'Hollow Men,' what's your pleasure for breakfast? Eggs? Pancakes? Croissants slathered with organic strawberry preserves?"

"I think I'll go with one croissant, and go easy on the preserves. I'm not that hungry this morning."

"Something wrong? I thought that after last night," Rick goes on, wiggling his eyebrows, "you'd be ravenous."

"I just have some things to figure out," Kate confesses. "About work," she hurries to add as confusion clouds his eyes.

Castle presses his lips together, nodding slowly. "I suppose that after your trifecta, it's hard to know what to do for an encore. Anyway, one croissant with a modest amount of fruity sweetness, coming up."

* * *

Kate knocks lightly on Montgomery's office door. "Sir, got a minute?"

"For the detective who got the commissioner to loosen his grip on my budget, of course. What's on your mind, Beckett, and where's your shadow?"

"He said we're out of the good coffee. He went to get some more. And I wanted to talk to you about this before I said anything to him. I want to do cold cases."

Montgomery waves her to a chair. "Look, Kate, you scored big with Coonan, but that could be a once-in-a-career thing. Cold cases are the hardest ones to solve. You know that as well as I do. After 48 hours, most of the trail is pretty much wiped out. That's why they go cold. You gave our closure rate a boost, but that won't last forever. We have to keep it up, or Tuohy will take another look at our funding. How can we do that with my best detective chasing dead-end leads?"

"Sir, if you need me to get things going on fresh cases, I could be there. But once things are rolling, Ryan, Esposito, and the other detectives can handle most of the work as well as I can. Some things, like scrubbing video, or canvassing, they handle better. And if they get stuck, I can help. But Sir, we both know that even if the percentage is a little higher for the 12th, about 30% of the murders in this city go unsolved. And in poorer neighborhoods, the percentage is higher. That leaves a lot of loved ones hanging. I was one of them, up until now. I want the force to do better. I want to do better."

"So what are we talking about, Beckett, a task force? That would take resources we don't have."

"No task force, Sir, at least not now. But when I don't have any new homicides, I'd make pursuing cold cases my priority."

"Hell, Beckett, in a way, you've spent your entire time here doing that unofficially. One cold case, anyway. The only thing that will change is that you'll have my blessing. Sure, go ahead, but if your closure rate starts slipping, I may have to rethink the situation."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me, Kate. I just gave you permission to work at least twice as hard."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

"We're going to the archives?" Castle queries as Kate hands him a flashlight. "What's the case?"

"I don't know yet, Babe, we'll find out when we get down there."

Rick reaches out to feel her forehead. "No fever, but you didn't eat much this morning, and you're proceeding without a plan. Are you feeling all right, Kate?"

"I feel fine, great actually. Before you came back with your premium Arabica blend, Montgomery agreed to let me pick cold cases to investigate. We're going to find the first one right now."

"Finding a case worthy of Kate Beckett and her plucky sidekick should be a fascinating task. Do you have any specific criteria in mind?"

"Not really, Kate admits. "I thought we'd go to the 'A' section and start looking."

"Kate, you should see this," Castle calls as he sifts through the contents of a banker's box. "It was a double murder, an engaged couple. They were killed the day before they were supposed to enter into wedded bliss. Lots of visitors were in town to attend the ceremony. That made for a ton of suspects. It looks like the detectives at the time didn't have what it took to handle all the disappointed guests before they departed the city. The lead detective, Hunter, ended up letting the case slide."

Kate joins him to examine the case file. "1988. That's a long time ago, Castle."

"Right," Rick agrees, "but Berners-Lee didn't invent the World Wide Web until 1989. Back then, it would have been a lot harder to track people down once they scattered. The detectives got names, addresses, and telephone numbers. Those are great starting points, Kate. They'd still turn up on a modern background check. The murderer could be right on Hunter's list, waiting to be ferreted out with modern technology. It should be worth a shot, right?"

"Let's give Hunter a call, Castle," Kate proposes. "Then, we'll decide."


	50. Chapter 50

Guardian Angel

Chapter 50

Retirement invades Detective Rex Hunter's thoughts for the umpteenth time. He's been on the job long enough to remember the recession in the '80s. Cops got the short end of the stick then, and they're getting it now. He's yet to get a desk chair big enough for him. At least the pension fund is intact. If he got out now, he'd do OK, but he'd still do better if he sticks around a few more years and puts in his thirty. He'd like the job a lot more if he could make a big score like that Detective Beckett and the guys at the 12th. He doesn't know much about Beckett, but from what he's heard, she's gutsy, like Dee Dee. Hopefully, Beckett never has to go through what his longtime partner did.

The caller I.D. on the veteran detective's landline shows a call coming in from the 12th. What the hell do the department's current heroes want with him? "Hunter."

"Detective Hunter, this is Detective Kate Beckett."

Rex forces his jaw back up. "What can I do for you, Detective Beckett?"

"I'm looking into the Amundsen killings. You're listed as the primary. Do you remember the case?" Kate inquires.

Hunter runs his palm over what's left of his hair. "It would be hard to forget a woman and her fiancé brutally murdered on the eve of their wedding. I've always regretted not being able to make more headway with my investigation."

"Maybe you can help me make some now," Kate suggests. "Do you have time to come to the 12th?"

Rex regards the stack of useless paperwork on his desk. "I'll make time."

* * *

Castle doesn't have to look up to many people, but he cranes his neck at the craggy six foot six detective Kate ushers into the conference room. As Rick takes a seat next to Kate, Hunter eyes him skeptically. "And you are?"

"This is Richard Castle, my civilian observer," Kate jumps in.

"Yeah, I heard you have a shadow," Hunter acknowledges. "I hope he knows how to stay out of the way."

"Hey, I'm right here!" Castle interjects.

"Actually, Mr. Castle has been very helpful in my investigations," Kate informs Hunter, "and he's already given me some constructive ideas about pursuing this one. But I need to hear everything you remember about the case before I go any further."

"Especially anything that's not in your notes. I've already memorized those," Castle adds, earning Rex's narrow-eyed glare.

Hunter shifts his gaze to Kate. "By every account that my people and I got, Amanda Lester and Jeff Amundsen were the perfect couple. They were young and healthy. Both were moving up in their careers. She was in advertising, and he was an architect. Since they both had to draw for work, they took art classes in college. That's how they met. The word was that Jeff had even designed their dream home."

"How does a young couple afford to build a dream home in New York?" Kate asks.

"I thought that question was the heart of the case," Hunter explains. "Jeff came from a wealthy family, but the purse strings were controlled by a matriarch, Lilith Amundsen, who was a few cards short of a full deck. She'd set up a trust fund, $50 million, to pass to the first of her grandchildren to get married. If Jeff had lived, he would have come into the money."

Kate's brows shoot up. "Who would have been next in line?"

Rex shakes his head. "That's just it. There were six other grandchildren, but none of them were engaged at the time. All of them had prospects, so it was a toss-up as to who would have gotten the money."

"It would be interesting to check out who finally hit the jackpot," Castle inserts.

"Wouldn't help," Hunter informs him. "After the murders, the old lady rewrote her will and dissolved the trust fund. No one got it. I believe that she died not long afterward."

"So, Where did the money go?" Castle wonders.

Rex shrugs his broad shoulders. "Damned if I know. By that time, I was off the case."

"Did you peg someone as your most likely suspect?" Kate queries.

"I did," Hunter confirms. "Linus Tatupu, the son of one of Lilith's daughters. He played fullback at Hudson University, and was strong enough to take out both Amanda and Jeff and barely break a sweat."

"Did you have any physical evidence against him?" Castle inquires.

"If I did, I would have hauled his ass in," Rex growls. "DNA's come a long way since then, and there weren't any usable prints."

"Sounds like Linus might be worth another look," Kate considers. "Thank you very much for your help, Detective."

Hunter pointedly avoids looking at Rick. "I hope you can find something we didn't, Detective Beckett."

Castle watches Hunter disappear into the elevator. "Real sweetheart of a guy," he comments, sarcasm edging his voice.

Johanna shimmers into sight. "Kate, I was watching. I knew Rex Hunter. He's not a bad guy. He helped me free a client who was picked up on a false identification. Rex is just not big on amateurs getting involved in police business. But he liked working with women. You can trust what he told you."

Kate puts her hand on Rick's arm. "You don't have to like him, Babe, but we can start with checking out Linus Tatupu and see what we get."

"Fine," Castle concedes. "But can we check out the burgers at Remy's first? I could use something to dig my teeth into right now."

Kate glances at her watch. "Yeah, it's almost lunchtime, but I want to get started. Could you…?"

"Pick up lunch and bring it back here?" Rick finishes. "Sure. Your usual?"

"Uh-huh, with…"

"I know, extra pickles."

* * *

Kate scrolls through the images on her computer screen. Hudson University keeps up with its alumni, and there are plenty of pictures of Linus Tatupu. He isn't as tall as Rex Hunter but probably outweighs him by at least 100 lbs. In pictures dating back closer to the murder, Linus is somewhat slimmer and most likely more agile. He could have wielded the weapon that left the doomed couple bleeding out on the floor. The autopsy reports don't show a precise identification of the blade, but DNA wasn't the only thing limited in 1988. It will be worth giving them to Lanie or even Castle's friend Clark Murray for a second look.

Outside of his football credentials and a list of positions Tatupu has held over the years, details about his life are pretty sparse. As Rick pointed out, there should be more in a background check. Kate enters the suspect's name and smiles at the readout. Tatupu has a house on Staten Island. She and Castle can easily drive out there after he gets back to the 12th with lunch.

Popping off the elevator, Rick holds up a grease-stained paper bag and a drink carrier. "Castle's delivery service. You want to eat in the conference room?"

Kate shakes her head. "Captain Montgomery is in there with the captain from the 23rd. But how about a picnic on the floor of our favorite office?"

Castle grins. "I'm in. I don't suppose you have a blanket?"

Kate pulls open the bottom drawer of her desk. "You know. I just might."


	51. Chapter 51

Guardian Angel

Chapter 51

Automatically, Rick and Kate each grab two corners of Kate's blanket to fold up and put away. "I used to do this with Nonna," Kate recalls. "Did you do it with Martha?"

Castle snorts. "Mother occasionally supervised while Alexis and I folded. Alexis learned when she was little. She liked to cuddle the warm and fuzzy stuff coming out of the dryer. We had some good moments doing laundry. It's funny how the most mundane things can make the sweetest memories."

"It is," Kate agrees. "When my dad started coming back to himself a little after Mom died, I helped him dust and reorganize his baseball memorabilia. While we were working, he told me stories about how he got some of it. I still remember the excitement returning to his eyes. That was when I started to believe he was going to make it."

"It seems like everyday things that go unnoticed can be the clue that breaks a case," Rick muses. "I have Nikki calling those the odd socks, little details that don't quite fit the rest of the picture."

Kate strokes her fingertips over her lips. "That's a good way to put it. I do look for things like that."

"I know you do. I have a great time watching you do it. So, are we off to Staten Island?"

Kate tucks the neatly folded throw under her arm. "As soon as I put this away."

Rick unlocks the door of their hideaway and winks. "I look forward to sharing it with you again."

* * *

"Having the Staten Island Ferry stop taking cars wasn't the worst thing that happened because of 9/11, but I miss it," Castle sighs as Beckett sets out for Brooklyn to take the Verrazano Bridge. "It wasn't just quicker. I still love to feel the ferry gliding over the water and breathing open air. But it was the world's cheapest date, a boon to a starving student. You could huddle against the wind on the water and watch the sun come up for practically nothing — romance without breaking the bank."

"Mmm. We could still take the ferry sometime," Kate points out, "when we don't need to drive anywhere. Watching a sunrise together from the deck would be fun. I could even bring my blanket to wrap up in."

"Or we could find other ways to generate some heat," Castle suggests.

Kate breaks hard, almost missing a stop sign. "We should talk about the case. Showing up after no one's investigated the murders for so long, should put Linus Tatupu off his guard. That may give us an edge."

"Or bring back pain for him, if he isn't the murderer," Castle guesses. "Jeff Amundsen was Linus' cousin. I don't have any experience with cousins or how attached they are. As far as I know, I don't have any. Do you?"

"My cousin Sophia, my Aunt Theresa's daughter. I have some second cousins in Italy too, but I've never met them."

"Are you and Sophia close?"

"We had some fun times together when we were kids. When Mom and Dad and I went to our cabin in the summer, sometimes she came with us. I don't see that much of her now."

"So do you think Lilith's grandchildren might have been close, that Linus and Jeff might have liked each other?"

Kate shrugs. "No way to know until we talk to Linus, but it is a good question."

* * *

The footsteps Rick and Kate hear approaching the door of Linus Tatupu's house are heavy and slow. When he appears in the entranceway, the reason is apparent. He's even more obese than he was in his most recent picture, and his breathing is labored. "Can I help you?"

Kate holds up her badge. "I hope so, Mr. Tatupu. I'm Detective Kate Beckett, and this is Mr. Castle. We're investigating the murders of Amanda Lester and Jeff Amundsen."

Linus motions Kate and Rick inside, to a couple of stoutly constructed chairs. The host sits on a badly sagging couch. "I thought the N.Y.P.D. gave up on finding out who killed Jeff and Amanda, decades ago."

Kate leans forward in her seat. "There's no statute of limitations on murder, Mr. Tatupu. The case is still open, and we have investigatory tools now that didn't exist at the time of the murders."

"Good to hear, "Linus wheezes, "but I don't know how I can help. I told a Detective Hunter everything I could, but it wasn't much."

"What happened the night before Amanda and Jeff were supposed to be married?" Kate asks.

"What usually happens the night before a wedding, I guess," Linus responds. "We had a rehearsal dinner. I was there, as one of Jeff's groomsmen. I almost didn't make it because I had to have my tuxedo custom made, and I had a last-minute fitting. Anyway, we all met at Grandma Lilith's house. She sent cars to pick us up. She had this huge formal dining room, bigger than a lot of banquet rooms. We ate. Jeff's best man, Lonnie Beymer, made a speech, and we all drank too much Champagne. Then Grandma's drivers took us home. I never saw Jeff and Amanda again. The funerals were closed casket."

"Were there any arguments at the dinner?" Kate queries.

The folds in Linus' face deepen. "Not that I can remember."

"Anyone mention that Jeff was coming into his trust fund?" Castle inquires.

"My cousin Bennie started to. He asked Jeff when he was going to break ground on the house he was planning to build, but Grandma Lilith interrupted, saying they shouldn't be talking about that before Jeff and Amanda were married. She really looked pissed about it. Maybe that had something to do with why she changed her will and got rid of the trust fund before she died."

"Who inherited?" Castle asks.

"No one, at least not family. Grandma had everything put into a private foundation. I'm not sure what it does. I don't have anything to do with it. Neither do any of my cousins. You think Jeff and Amanda were killed because of the money?"

"We don't know," Kate admits, "but money is a common motive. Who would know about the foundation?"

"Grandma used the Sterns and Hart law firm. Someone there should."

"Sterns and Hart," Kate repeats. "Thank you, Mr. Tatupu. You've been helpful."

"I hope you catch the killer," Linus declares. "Jeff and Amanda should rest in peace."

"Yes, they should," Kate agrees.

* * *

"So none of the grandchildren got the $50 million," Castle ponders as Kate drives back to the precinct.

"That doesn't mean they didn't have a motive," Kate points out. "They wouldn't have known that Lilith was going to change her will after Jeff died. We can't even cross Linus off the list."

"That's true," Castle concedes. "But someone might have known that Lilith was thinking about a foundation."

"Maybe we'll find out when we check with Sterns and Hart."

"We could find out faster than that, Kate. If the foundation is a nonprofit, it would be an open book under the sunshine laws." Rick pulls out his phone. "Hmm. A Lilith Amundsen Foundation. I don't see one."

"Could she have named it after Jeff?" Kate wonders.

Rick smacks his palm on the dash. "Good guess, Detective. The Jeff Amundsen Foundation, devoted to supporting architectural students and developing new building materials. There are a lot of PDFs we can download when we get back to the 12th. There might be a clue in there, somewhere."

"It might help if we had someone who knows something about architecture," Kate offers.

Castle taps on the screen of his phone. "It's been a while, but I think I know someone. When I bought my loft, it was just open space. He helped me lay it out."

"He did a good job."

Rick sends Kate a sideways smile. "Thanks. Glad you like it."


	52. Chapter 52

Guardian Angel

Chapter 52

"I'm going to contact my architectural consultant right now," Castle declares. "He's not on my phone, but I should be able to find an email or something. Right! Here he is, Charles Hamburger."

Kate arches an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Hey, it could be worse. He could go by Chuck. I can leave a message on his website. Maybe by the time we finish going through all the paperwork on the Jeff Amundsen Foundation, he'll get back to me. You know what? I can send the documents from my phone to the printer at the loft. Even with stopping on the way to the precinct to pick them up, we'll still save a lot of time."

"Sounds good, Babe. I can circle the block and wait for you in my unit. That way, I won't have to find a parking spot, and we won't be tempted to hang around for anything except the printouts."

"You just ruined a perfectly good scenario for an intense if short interlude," Rick complains. "But all right."

"We can have our interlude later," Kate promises, her voice dropping an octave, "when there's no reason to rush."

Castle gulps. "I guess I can wait."

* * *

"Most of this is about materials," Kate realizes, paging through the printouts.

"Yeah, it's cool," Castle agrees, pointing at a couple of pages. "These are roofing materials that reflect sunlight to keep a building from getting too hot in the summer. And I saw something about self-cleaning windows. This is all forward-looking stuff. If these projects aren't just hype, the foundation's doing some good work. There's even a description of some paint developed by a student at MIT. It's supposed to be photoelectric. Imagine the buildings in New York covered in that. Con Ed's stock would be in the cellar. I'd like to find out if these materials are for real. If they are, some of them might make great investments. And Alexis would love me getting into energy savings. She's always bugging me about going greener. I hope Hamburger can get back to us soon."

"I'm sorry, Castle," Kate responds, giggling. "Every time you mention him, I get characters from old McDonald's ads running through my mind."

"Mother didn't want me to watch those," Castle recalls. "She said I was enough of a Hamburglar without getting any more ideas."

"I'd think you were probably more of a Cheeseburglar," Kate teases.

"True enough," Castle confesses. "When I wasn't being a French Fry Bandit. But ooh, speak of the devil. Charles sent a text. He says we could see him at his office if we can get there fast enough. He needs to go catch a plane to a conference in a couple of hours."

Kate starts gathering up documents. "Then we'd better get moving."

* * *

Hamburger scans the pages Castle put in front of him. "From what I've seen so far, this stuff is all legit, Rick. Some of it, like reflective roofs, is already in use, but the tech is still being refined. The windows have been around since 2001 when nanotech started making a splash. Some of the other developments have a long way to go. Now, this," he continues, tapping a report with the eraser end of his mechanical pencil, "could turn out to be big. A stronger lighter aluminum alloy like the one outlined here wouldn't just have architectural applications; it could be used in electric vehicles to make them run farther on a charge. There might be military uses as well, but mil-specs aren't in my wheelhouse. From the footnotes, the aluminum project's been running a long time, since the late eighties."

Kate and Rick trade glances.

"Is the timing significant?" Hamburger asks.

"Could be," Rick confirms.

"Is there anything else that jumps out at you?" Kate queries.

"No, the rest goes along with trends I see throughout buildings going up now, but there are a few intriguing design variations. I have to admit that I wasn't aware of the foundation until you brought it to my attention, but I have a nephew who's up and coming in the materials field. I'd love to have him submit some ideas to Amundsen and see what happens — unless you think there's a problem with the foundation, Detective Beckett."

"There are no problems that I know of, Mr. Hamburger, but if any issues come up, we'll let you know. It's the least we can do in return for your help."

Hamburger extends his hand. "On the contrary, Detective, working with you is the least I can do for law enforcement."

Castle noisily clears his throat. "Shouldn't we be moving along, Kate? The law firm, right?"

"Right, Castle, of course. Thanks again, Charles."

"You are most welcome anytime, Detective Beckett. And you too, Rick."

"He was hitting on you!" Rick explodes as soon as he and Kate are out of Hamburger's offices. "He is a Hamburglar."

"Then, if he's lucky, he may get himself a Big Mac, but the only thing I'm interested in is his architectural expertise," Kate soothes. "So, now that we have an idea of what to look for let's touch base with Sterns and Hart. I want to see if anyone else was interested in that alloy at the time Lilith formed the foundation. Jeff's murder might have had nothing to do with the $50 million."

"An alloy like that," Castle realizes, "would be worth a hell of a lot more than $50 million. But it's almost 5 o'clock. We probably won't find the right person around to talk to around a law firm, until tomorrow. Let's make dinner at the loft. How about chicken? I've had more than enough of hamburger."

Kate stretches up for a quick kiss. "Me too."

* * *

As Rick unlocks the door of the loft, music charges, rather than floats, from above. "Sounds like my daughter is hard at work. Alexis has a lesson with Holly tomorrow. She's doing two a week. With her old teacher, she only did one, but I think she'd take even more now if Holly had room in her schedule."

"She's been studying up on forensics, too, getting ready for the summer. She could be busier then than she is during the school year," Kate speculates.

"If that's possible," Castle muses, "but it's wonderful to see her so enthusiastic. She reminds me of me when I was working on the stories leading up to "In a Hail of Bullets. I lost that unrelenting drive during the last few Derrick Storm Books. Writing them became routine. But working with you, and writing about Nikki Heat has brought it back in spades. It's like writing is new again."

"I feel that way about being able to dig into cold cases," Kate confides. "I'll have so many opportunities to put right what's been wrong for a long time, especially with the two of us on the job. I would have had a hard time finding someone like Charles Hamburger on my own."

"Thank God for small blessings," Castle exclaims.

"If you want to get some writing in, I can get the lettuce washed and crisped up for a salad and marinate the chicken," Kate proposes. "When you're ready to take a break, we can cook dinner together. We can always save a plate for Alexis if she can't pull herself away from her violin."

Rick wraps his arms around Kate's waist. "Then maybe later, we can figure out what we want for dessert. You did promise me an interlude."

Kate threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "I did, didn't I? Can't renege on a promise." Her mouth meets his eager lips. "Consider this the overture. We'll improvise the rest of the score later."


	53. Chapter 53

Guardian Angel

Chapter 53

Propping his head on his arm, Rick listens attentively for any sound coming through the bedroom door. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" Kate asks drowsily from beside him. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," Rick grins. "No violin, no rummaging for snacks in the kitchen, just blessed silence. Alexis must have finally turned in for the night."

"I could say the same about you," Kate points out. "You barely looked up from your laptop for hours after dinner. I was debating whether to catch a nap or head back to my apartment."

Rick turns to her, smoothing the hair out of her face. "I'm sorry. It was a writer thing, you know? Everything I wanted to do with Nikki suddenly fell into place, and I had to get it down before I lost it. Can you forgive me?"

"I guess," Kate concedes, thrusting her hands beneath his T-shirt. "I get the same way when I'm running down something for a case. I can't let go until I've got it."

Rick tugs her against him. "I have noticed that a time or two, but we've both let go now. Perhaps it's time for our much-postponed interlude."

Kate presses her heels against his calves. "I think you may just be right."

Pushing aside Kate's sleepshirt, Rick samples the sweet skin of her shoulder, lightly pressing his lips where a faint fragrance of cherries and vanilla lingers from her body wash. Need overwhelms him like a sudden storm as he jerks the worn fabric upward for access to the straining buds beneath. His tongue rounds one and then the other, bringing them to full attention, while his hands wander lower.

He pauses as Kate groans and pulls at his shirt. They push it over his head together before Rick rapidly returns his attentions to her. He pushes aside the damp satin blocking his way until Kate slips it down her legs and kicks it away. She writhes beneath his hand, and a cry forces its way from her throat as his mouth replaces his fingers. Her mind flees from her arching body as heat speeds through her veins. Fingers thrusting into his hair; she holds his head against her until shockwaves banish the air from her lungs. She reaches for him, hot and hard beneath her touch, even through his shorts. She shoves them out of the way, her lips caressing his still-growing desire. She can feel an answering urgency growing within her. Straddling his hips, she takes him into the depths screaming to be filled. She is wild, her eyes unfocused, her hair dampened by sweat as she rides, and he rises to meet her. Frustrated by a summit just beyond her grasp, she reaches for the center of her body's demand. His fingers displace hers, rubbing and stroking her past the limits of sanity until a reality-shattering eruption plunges them both over the edge.

* * *

When Kate opens her eyes in a grudging response to the alarm on her phone, the bed beside her is empty. Wandering the few steps to Rick's office, she finds him hunched intently over his laptop. "I thought you finished the chapter you were writing last night."

He reaches for her hand. "I did, but you inspired me to write another one."

"Rick, you're not…"

He chuckles, rubbing his thumb against her palm. "No. If I did that, it would end up in a different kind of bookstore. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's not my genre. However, I do hope that I communicated the essence of our communion, if not the details. It was incredible, Kate."

"It was," Kate agrees. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Once I got my first page out, I made a pot. I only filled my mug once. There should be plenty if you need your morning jolt."

"If we're going to try to get something out of a bunch of lawyers, the caffeine couldn't hurt," Kate concludes. "Are you going to be a while? I could start breakfast."

"No need. I've only got a couple of paragraphs to go and I already mixed up some waffle batter. It's resting in the fridge. Ooh, you could plug in the waffle iron, so it will be hot and ready to go, like a detective, I know. Hmm. That conjures up some interesting images, also for the other bookstores."

Warmth rises in Kate's cheeks. "I'm not going to ask. OK. Meet you in the kitchen?"

"My fingers will fly over the keys."

* * *

"May I help you?" the receptionist in the plush lobby of the Law Offices of Sterns and Hart inquires.

Kate holds up her badge. "I hope so. We're reviewing the Jeff Amundsen and Amanda Lester murders. We believe that the set up of the Jeff Amundsen Foundation by someone at this firm might be material to the case, and need to talk to the attorney involved."

The receptionist examines Kate's I.D. "Detective, um, Beckett, is it?" Kate nods. Detective Beckett, 50 attorneys work at this firm. Do you have a name?"

"The signature on the documents establishing the foundation was Barry L. Sterns. The current representative is Stewart G. Foster," Castle inserts.

"We would prefer to see Mr. Sterns, Ms. Lawry," Kate adds, reading the nameplate on the reception desk.

"I'm sorry; Mr. Sterns passed away years ago," Lawry replies, "but I'll check to see if Mr. Foster is available."

"I'm sorry," Kate echoes. "Yes, we would appreciate talking with Mr. Foster."

* * *

"I don't know how helpful I can be," Foster apologizes. I took over administration of the foundation paperwork a few years ago, right after I finished my clerkship. I never knew or even heard of Lilith or Jeff Amundsen before that. As I understand it, the job has been through a string of junior associates since Mr. Sterns passed."

"What were you told when you took it on?" Kate questions. "Were you aware of the Amundsen murder?"

"Not until I read Lilith Amundsen's letter of intent that was included in the file. Most of it was pretty straightforward in terms of honoring her grandson — nothing that wasn't released to the public."

Rick's eyebrows rise. "Most of it?"

"There were passages that seemed a bit cryptic to me," Foster explains. "I assume that Mr. Sterns understood them, or he would have asked for clarification, but I didn't. There were no notes from the other associates, either."

Kate leans forward in her chair. "Cryptic, in what way?"

"Something about the prevention of the misuse of materials. Of course, we would never sanction anything illegal in any case, but I have no idea what else she might have meant. Everything about the foundation has always been on the up and up. This firm has stringent ethics, even more so than those set down by the Bar Association. That's one of the reasons I wanted to work here. I like to sleep at night."

Johanna snorts as Kate smiles sweetly. "That's good to know, Mr. Foster. That sort of attitude makes my work easier." She hands him a card. "If you think of or come across anything that might be relevant to Jeff Amundsen's death, I'd appreciate a call."

Amundsen rises as Kate does. "Of course, Detective. Anything I can do to help."

* * *

"He knows something," Kate announces as she and Rick make the short walk to her unit. "The first thing a liar says is, 'To be honest.' When a lawyer goes out of his way to tell you how ethical he is, he's holding something back."

"Like what the 'misuse of materials' was?" Castle guesses.

"That's definitely something we should look into," Kate agrees.


	54. Chapter 54

Guardian Angel

Chapter 54

"What are you looking for, Babe?" Kate wonders as Rick scrolls through listings on his phone.

"Uses for lightweight aluminum alloys. Or misuses. Damn! Sometimes I really hate S.E.O."

"What?"

"Search engine optimization," Castle explains. "It's how writers of web content make their listings come up first on Google or the other main search engines. Black Pawn always wants me to pay attention to it when I write blurbs for my books. Unfortunately, it's generally used to sell something, so the ads and the commercial stuff come up first. Purely informational articles can end up pages in and barely be seen at all. I could do better with one of my sources at the loft, or better still the main public library, if I'm going back to 1988. We might find older references to the Amundsen family at the library too. The place is full of obscure biographies and descriptions of New York Society."

"You told me that you spent a lot of time there. Did you have to do that much research for your books?"

"I did if I wanted them to ring true. It's the little details that make a character relatable, even a villain. Sometimes especially a villain. And if you want to use a device like a hidden passage, it helps to know what kinds of houses featured them. Even things like a creaky telltale stair might depend on the moisture in the area and the type of wood used. A badly done repair could give a murderer away."

Kate smiles thoughtfully. "I remember when you used something like that."

"The Maine house," Johanna whispers.

"At the house in Maine. The killer was done in by a stretch of muggy weather," Kate recalls.

"Right," Castle grins. "So, the public library? If you have something you need to do at the precinct, you can drop me off."

Kate taps on the steering wheel. "I did want to run a check on Stewart Foster to see if he's been involved in any criminal cases. He might have a reason besides guarding the privacy of the Amundsens for being less than forthcoming."

"He might indeed," Castle agrees. "Well, fine. If we go at the problem from different angles, at least one of us might stumble on something we can use. I'll grab the subway to the 12th when I'm done, and we can compare notes — or whatever."

Kate turns in the direction of the library. "Sure. Good luck."

* * *

Reference librarian Liddy Lisbon waves as Castle enters her domain. "Ricky! I haven't seen you in a while. Looking for scientific underpinnings for your next mystery?"

"If I find what I'm looking for, I might incorporate it into a book eventually, but right now, I'm working on a case with the N.Y.P.D.," Rick replies.

"Yes, I've read about your adventures in crime-solving in the Ledger. You have had yourself quite a time working with the lovely Detective Beckett."

In a throwback to his pre-pubescent years when he first met Mrs. Lisbon, Castle feels heat suffusing his cheeks. "Detective Beckett and I work very well together."

Liddy stares at him appraisingly. "I have a feeling you do more than work together. You had that same look when you brought that cute little Lizzie in here. Whatever happened to her?"

"Too many conversations with my mother. She decided to try out for the High School of the Performing Arts to be an actress. When she didn't make it, she decided that I reminded her too much of her failure and broke up with me. Good for her, though. Turned out she has a real talent for computer animation. She moved to California and ended up working for Pixar. She's in show business after all and happy as a clam. We had lunch last time she came to visit her family in the Big Apple."

"All's well that ends well," Liddy declares. "So, what can I facilitate for you and Detective Beckett?"

"I'm researching uses for aluminum, especially ones that might draw the ire of some segments of the public."

Liddy pulls a pencil from her bun and rolls it between her fingers. "Normally, I'd send you toward some of the more recent articles, but there is a book on the subject that just came out from M.I.T. Press. Knowing how fast you read, I believe it might be just what you need."

Rick plants a kiss on Liddy's cheek. "Mrs. Lisbon, you are the best!"

Liddy jams her pencil back in her bun, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "I'll get your book, but you remember the library, the next time the mayor runs a fundraiser for the literacy campaign."

"Count on it, Mrs. Lisbon," Rick assures her.

Rick rapidly scans through the pages of the reference Mrs. Lisbon finds for him, surprised that it's by a sociologist, not a metallurgist. But the authorship makes sense, given the long history of the metal in human conflict. He quickly discovers that during both world wars, most aluminum was produced for military use, and the trend didn't stop there. In modern warfare, it is used to make the biggest explosions short of nuclear bombs. Could Jeff Amundsen have been horrified by a development even more deadly, perhaps one intended for sale to hostile powers? Might he have told his fiancée and his grandmother? That scenario would make an excellent plot for a Derrick Storm novel, but Rick shivers at the thought. Still, if true, Lilith certainly would have wanted it kept under wraps, and her law firm would have done its best to do so. Kate may need some convincing as to the possibility of the notion, or she may have found something that will prove his idea a red herring. He'll find out when he meets her at the precinct.

* * *

Stewart G. Foster has no criminal record, at least not technically, but he does have a rap sheet. He's never been convicted of a crime and never lied about being a suspect. He just never spread it around, either. The judge who hired him as a clerk was a Sterns family friend, and there's really no reason he shouldn't have given young Stewart a chance. Under the law, the lawyer had never been proven guilty of anything.

As a cop, however, Kate has a suspicious mind. Foster was questioned about some industrial sabotage at a company where he had a summer job, but there had been nothing tying him to the crime except proximity and idealism. The testing of a process to develop a new weapon had been sabotaged by contamination and small temperature changes. By the time failures began occurring, it was too late to start over and still meet the timelines necessary to continue the project. The company had to scrap years of work, and the military lost out on a possible new addition to its arsenal.

Kate turns from her computer as Rick steps off the elevator and calls a greeting. "I've got something, they announce simultaneously."

"You first," Castle suggests, dropping into his accustomed seat.

"This is going to seem like it comes out of left field, but I think Stewart Foster might have been some kind of peace activist who helped keep a weapon out of the hands of the military."

"A weapon based on aluminum?" Rick queries.

"I don't know," Kate admits. "The background I read on him didn't go into that much detail. Does it matter?"

"Maybe not. But I think Steven might be a soul after Jeff Amundsen's heart and Lilith's too. Allow me to tell you a story."

Kate rests her chin on her arms, meeting the gray-blue of his eyes. "I'm listening."


	55. Chapter 55

Guardian Angel

Chapter 55

"Kate, have you ever heard of Tritonal?" Castle asks.

Stopped short at Kate's desk on his way to the men's room, Esposito injects his military expertise. "It's an explosive used in the mutherf***er of all bombs that we dropped in Iraq. Blows whatever it hits to hell. It can't do the job of carpet bombing, but it is a lot easier to deploy."

"Esposito just got into the point I was about to make," Castle explains. "Tritonal is TNT mixed with aluminum, which makes the strength of the explosion build faster. But it has its limits. I believe that Jeff Amundsen accidentally stumbled on a way to overcome them.

"Picture this, Kate. Jeff was a bright-faced young architect with a passion for employing new and better materials in his designs. He loved aluminum because it is light and doesn't rust. Unfortunately, in his time, there was no aluminum alloy even close to the strength of steel. Jeff wanted to change that, so with some financial support from Grandma Lilith, he employed some metallurgical geniuses to make one. Jeff was so excited about the project that he couldn't help regaling his fiancée with at least some of the details."

"So, in your version of what happened, Amanda Lester would have known what he was doing," Kate notes.

"Uh-huh," Castle confirms, "and maybe even talked about it to a friend or two. But something went terribly wrong with the plan, or at least what seemed terribly wrong to Jeff. Someone on his project accidentally discovers a catalyst that makes aluminum even more efficient at amplifying explosions.

"Maybe something in the lab blew up, or techs got their chimes rung, but there wasn't enough damage to attract attention. Still, Jeff was horrified. He closes the project down, locks up the records, and decides that he'll start off in an entirely different direction when he marries Amanda and comes into his trust fund.

"Unfortunately for Jeff and Amanda, someone aware of the research realized that the catalyst could be worth something either to our Department of Defense or a foreign adversary. That person, our murderer, wanted those records. We both saw how gruesome the autopsy photos were, and Linus mentioned that the funeral was closed casket. The killer could have tortured his victims, trying to get his hands on the records, and then left them to bleed out and die."

"If you're right, then Hunter went down a completely wrong path," Kate realizes. "That's why he couldn't pin the murders on Linus or any of Lilith's other grandchildren. None of them were involved. But wouldn't Lilith have suspected?"

"Perhaps she did," Castle figures. "But she didn't want a secret Jeff might have taken to his grave, to get out. So, she took what she knew to her friend, Barry Sterns. They set up the foundation. Maybe they would have guarded the records if the murderer didn't get them. Or perhaps they were heading off any future research. They might even have set up a private hunt for the killer."

Kate digs her front teeth into her bottom lip. "And when Barry Sterns died, junior associates handled routine paperwork for the foundation without understanding what the organization was really about. But when Stewart Foster, as idealistic as Jeff Amundsen, officially became part of the firm, he was let in on all the secrets, which he wasn't about to reveal to us."

"Do you think Stewart knows who killed Jeff and Amanda?" Castle wonders.

Kate shoves her hair behind her ear. "I doubt it. I can't imagine someone with scruples like his letting a murderer go unpunished. But he might be able to send us in the right direction." Kate bats her eyelashes. "I wonder if Stewart would like to have coffee."

"From the way he looked at you, he'd like to have a lot more than that," Rick growls.

"Babe," Kate assures him, "coffee is all he's going to get, but it's too soon to call him about meeting up again. It's also the end of my shift, and unless I have my gun pointed at the killer, Montgomery isn't about to OK overtime on a cold case. Let's head for home."

Castle smiles to himself at Kate's reference to the loft as home. He doesn't know it, but Johanna is smiling with him.

* * *

"Are you going to write tonight?" Kate asks as she and Rick load the dinner plates into the dishwasher.

"I wasn't planning on it. I'm all caught up, ahead of schedule, actually. I can't remember the last time that happened. But it's just as well. Holly should be showing up any minute, and the air will be alive with the sound of music."

"Isn't that supposed to be 'the hills?'"

"Only for the Von Trapp family. The Castle clan doesn't get scenery nearly that colorful — unless you count Mother's wardrobe."

"Your mother does dress with flair," Kate agrees.

Rick grunts, rolling his eyes. "That's one word for it. You know, we could go out and leave Alexis to her musical labors; take a walk or something, maybe take in a movie. The theater around the corner is showing, "Here's Blood in Your Eye."

"I don't think I've ever heard of that one."

"It's an indie, locally produced by a bunch of film students. The theater gives them a showcase. That way, the kids get a chance to gauge the response from a live audience instead of just uploading their work to the web. It's kind of like open mike night at a comedy club — without the intoxicated hecklers. The films can be surprisingly good sometimes. Even if the films aren't always great, that theater is a fun throwback. It still uses real butter on the popcorn."

"You had me at 'real butter.' What time do the movies start?"

"Usually, around seven." Rick checks his watch. "We should just about make it."

* * *

Kate cuddles into Rick's shoulder. He was right about the popcorn. Even after eating, the smell of it was a siren call. A large tub sits in her lap, and her fingers are already salty and slick. They had their pick of seats. Kate can't remember sitting in the balcony since she was a teenager, dating boys more interested in making out than watching what was on the screen. She's not sure she's feeling much different now. The thought of a make-out session with Rick in a dimly lit theater is pure titillation.

The sequence at the beginning of the movie looks like a montage of all the martial arts movies Kate's ever seen — the bad ones at least. Somehow the actors are talking just slightly out of sync with the action, even though the film was obviously shot in English. This will either be one of the worst movies she's been to or one of the funniest. Either way, the evening may have more exciting aspects.

* * *

As usual, Castle wants to stay through the closing credits, except that this time he doesn't notice that they're playing. He and Kate shared both laughs and popcorn as, with a wink and a nod, every trope in martial arts movies played out on the screen. But the cover of darkness was too enticing to waste. They came together without a word, oblivious of anything around them until the house lights suddenly intruded. After hastily rearranging their clothes, they saunter hand in buttery hand toward the exit. They're almost to the loft before Kate wonders how popcorn kernels made it into her bra.


	56. Chapter 56

Guardian Angel

Chapter 56

"I was surprised when you called," Stewart Foster admits, smiling over his mochaccino.

"I had some information come to light after we spoke yesterday," Kate explains, "concerning the history and purpose of the Jeff Amundsen Foundation — and how it may connect to Jeff and Amanda's murders.

Foster's fingers tighten on his mug. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I'm talking about aluminum, Mr. Foster, and its uses outside the architectural arena."

"Now you've really lost me, Detective Beckett," Foster claims.

"Then let me clarify," Kate responds. "Jeff Amundsen was an idealistic young man. He acted on those ideals, much like you did a few years back, Mr. Foster. Jeff was terrified of unleashing greater horror on this world than it was already suffering. In a twist of fate, his efforts to stop it cost both him and Amanda Lester their lives. The foundation is maintaining Jeff's legacy, and you are protecting his secret. Are you following me now?"

"Detective Beckett, I have no idea where you got your information, but I believe that you know I cannot confirm or deny any of your speculations."

"I think you just did, Mr. Foster. If I were spinning a fairy tale, you could easily have said so. So let's continue," Kate proposes. "With help from Mr. Castle, I have a scenario for you. Jeff Amundsen's well-intentioned research project into aluminum produced results that could have been used for highly destructive weaponry. Jeff wanted nothing to do with arms like that, but someone else did. That person killed both Jeff and Amanda. Do you have any idea about who it might be?"

"As I'm sure you're aware, Detective, my attorney-client privilege wouldn't extend to protecting Jeff and Amanda's murderer. Hypothetically, if I, or anyone in the firm, had any solid information about who killed them, we would have turned it over to the police."

"All right, Mr. Foster, hypothetically then, what about some not-so-solid evidence? Is it possible that you, or the late Barry Sterns or even Lilith Amundsen had suspicions of any kind?"

"Yes, hypothetically, that is possible, Detective. As you have pointed out, Jeff Amundsen and I ran in similar circles, if in different generations. Organizations opposed to the expansion of arms always have opponents at least equally devoted to their promotion. Those efforts can receive support from questionable sources. As I understand it, Jeff Amundsen was a fairly quiet young man. Amanda was his complement, very voluble and outgoing. Her parents were both immigrants, and she was fluent in several languages, including Russian. She also had a wide circle of friends. Our firm was never able to put the pieces together any further than that. Perhaps you and the inventive Mr. Castle will have more luck. That's all I can offer you."

Kate traces an invisible pattern on the ceramic surface of her mug. "It may be enough."

Stewart leans closer, across the small coffee shop table. "Believe me, Detective, I do wish you success. Whoever killed Jeff and Amanda should be brought to justice."

"Thank you, Mr. Foster. Castle and I are going to try our best to make that happen."

* * *

Kate's fingers hesitate on her unit's ignition as Johanna shimmers into sight in the seat next to her. "I saw you watching, Mom. Did you buy what Foster said?"

"I did, Katie. Law firms, even large ones, have limited resources. The ones who handle criminal law have some savvy investigators, but paper-pushers like Sterns and Foster might not even have those. It looks like, for whatever reason, the murderer didn't get what he wanted, or it would be out there right now. If the Russians had received it, they'd have bragged about some superweapon. If the U.S. had it, our forces would have used it in Iraq or Afghanistan or at least run tests. And from what I picked up, Sterns and Foster were trying to keep the whole matter quiet to prevent the results of Jeff's efforts from getting out. Questioning Amanda's friends would have raised way too many flags. But there's nothing to keep you and Rick from following that trail."

"No, there isn't," Kate agrees.

* * *

Castle picks out an M&M from the bowl Kate keeps at her desk. "So now we're looking into Amanda Lester. I'm the first to admit my failings in the understanding of the female psyche, but if Amanda knew there was something that scared the sh*t out of her fiancé, she wouldn't go spreading it around, would she? There's a big difference between open and stupid."

"You're right, Babe," Kate acknowledges. "But she might have wanted to do a friend, or even an acquaintance a favor, like mentioning an available job."

Understanding lights Rick's face. "Like working the lab doing Jeff's research. If the unfortunate discovery was an accident, then Amanda couldn't have known there would be anything wrong with helping someone out. And if he could, Jeff would have wanted to indulge her. So, who did Amanda know who would have been a candidate to work on an aluminum project?"

"Stewart Foster mentioned friends," Kate recounts. "Those might be college friends."

"Then there's one place to start," Castle realizes.

"The yearbook," they exclaim in concert.

"That classmates meet-up site has been scanning and posting a bunch of yearbooks from all over the place online," Castle points out. "They sent me a notice last week that mine was available for viewing. Amanda and Jeff went to Hudson U, right? We can use my sign-on to the site to see if the Hudson yearbooks are posted."

Kate enters a URL on her desk computer. "I know your email. What's your password, Babe?"

"Darthwader," Castle mumbles.

"Darth Vader?" Kate questions. "I would have thought you'd be more original than that."

"No, Darthwader, all one word, capitalized. When I first took Alexis to a con dressed as a little Leah, she didn't quite get the name of my character down, and that's what she used to call me. I kept it as something easy to remember and hard to guess. Not the strongest password in the world, but I don't use it for any sites with vital information, just the fun ones."

Kate shrugs. "It is kind of cute. OK, we're in. Yeah, they have Hudson U yearbooks from the eighties. I think Amanda would have graduated in '86 or '87. Uh-huh, here she is. She was a member of the Russian Culture Club. There's a listing of all the members. I wonder how many of them are still in New York."

"Possibly quite a few. Did you qualify for a Regents scholarship, Kate?"

"Huh? Sure, but I had to give it up to go to Stanford. It was only good in-state."

"I know. I stayed in-state so that I could use every cent of mine. I had other scholarship sources; I won a few writing contests. But until "In a Hail of Bullets," I never would have been able to afford my textbooks without the Regents funds. A lot of Regents winners go to Hudson. They'd be New Yorkers. At least New York is a good place to start looking for them. We should check majors like chemistry, metallurgy, or materials science to find our best suspects.

"Right, but majors aren't mentioned on the club page. I'll copy the membership list and print it out so we can both use it. I'll start looking for majors, and you can Google the names ."

"Sounds good." Rick leans in to brush a quick kiss on Kate's lips. "We're finally getting somewhere. I can feel it."


	57. Chapter 57

Guardian Angel

Chapter 57

"Something's wrong," Rick complains, tapping the tip of his finger against his phone. "The screen flashed black, and then Google told me I had no hits. Google has hits on everything, especially names, even weird ones."

"Which name is it?" Kate asks.

"It looks like a Russian one, or at least of Russian ancestry. No way I can pronounce this. Don't you speak Russian? Here."

"_Vladimir Vtikhomolku_," Kate reads. "I've never seen that name before, but I think it would translate to something like undercover or beneath the surface. Maybe he thought he was playing a joke on stupid Americans, but it shouldn't have confused Google. Let me check his major. He was studying chemical engineering. That would fit."

"Having his name blocked from a search engine would fit too if certain government agencies had been keeping an eye on him. I learned that in my Derrick Storm research. But that list was part of a scanned image. Whatever algorithm is blanking out any information on Mister Undercover might have missed it," Castle figures. "Kate, I think Jeff Amundsen had a spy working in his lab, and the government either knew about it then, or found out about it later. Either way, anything about him, except for things like those yearbook images will be unviewable. And before long, those will probably be gone, too."

"That can't be a coincidence," Kate declares. "Our mystery man is either involved with the murders or is the murderer. But if some agency has a lid on it, I don't know how we're going to find out. You think Izzy could help us?"

"Izzy tends to stay away from things that could get him disappeared. But I have another contact that might work. I need to send a text."

Kate's eyes sweep over Rick's face without finding a sign of humor. "Castle, do you really think looking into Jeff's murder is that dangerous?"

"Probably not looking into the murder, or we would have had a knock on our door by now. But trying to hack into the computer of someone worried about Russian spies, yeah. And I don't think Izzy would be happy at Gitmo. It may take a little while for me to hear back from my contact. He'll text or just show up where the G.P.S. on my phone says I am, preferably somewhere with a little privacy. You want to take a walk?"

"Sure, Babe, but what I can't figure out is why you have a contact in the first place. Why would the C.I.A. or whatever agency you're involved with give out information to a writer?"

Rick shrugs, before offering Kate his arm. "I asked. I told them that if I didn't get accurate data, I'd just make stuff up. People would believe it anyway. Hell, Kate. A lot of people believe T.V. shows are real. They run up to the actors who play the villains, when they're at the supermarket or buying The Ledger, and start yelling at them. I remember when Mother was playing a delightfully wicked temptress on a soap, I had to run interference for her a couple of times. But I digress. I told the agency that if they didn't give me something I could use, I'd invent something that would make them look like sociopathic assholes. So, they assigned an agent to be my liaison. It's probably not his real name, but he goes by Agent Gray. It suits him. You'll see why when you meet him. Let's take the side path when we get to the park. Gray doesn't like to talk with people around. And I think the cherry trees over that way will be blooming."

* * *

Kate looks around as she clings to Castle's arm. It really is lovely here. You always see pictures of the cherry blossoms in Japan or even Washington D.C., but you don't think about finding them in New York."

A short, totally unobtrusive man pops out from behind a tree. "Most people don't observe what's right in front of them. Hello Detective Beckett, Castle."

"Excuse me, have we met?" Kate asks.

Rick waves a hand at the visitor. "Kate Beckett, this is Agent Gray."

"I do my homework," Gray states blandly. "I've known who you are ever since Castle first laid eyes on you, Detective Beckett. I keep track of all our outside observers, however limited their contributions."

Rick winces. "Ouch. Look, Gray, I believe we've stumbled into agency business."

"I know you have, Castle. You set off alarm bells the minute you ran a search on _Vtikhomolku._"

"So why's the agency interested in him?" Rick queries.

"He's a squirrel. He gathers up useful tidbits of technology and then uses them to his advantage or the advantage of his handlers, in lean times. We let him get away with just enough so that we can slip in some misdirection now and then, but we haven't seen any activity from him in a while. He may have decided to retire, or been forced out of the game.

"So, did he gather nuts from Jeff Amundsen's laboratory?" Rick presses.

"If he did, I couldn't tell you about it," Gray reminds Castle. "But as it happens, he didn't. Apparently, he was too clumsy to keep Amundsen and Lester alive until he got what he wanted. We tried to get a team in to save them, but we were too late. He went underground for a couple of years after that. The Soviets weren't happy with him. Once the hegemony broke apart, he poked his head up and started to do business again. We were able to use him to sabotage Russian projects several times."

"So where is he now?" Kate demands.

"We don't know," Gray admits. "As I said, we haven't picked up on anything from him. He could be back underground or dead."

"So, how can we find out?" Castle queries.

"If he's still out there and you put some tasty seed in a birdfeeder, he'll climb the pole to get it. These days, The Russians are much more into software than hardware. You make _Vtikhomolku _think he can get his hands on some fancy code; he'll bite."

"And how do we do that?" Castle presses.

"If I were you, I'd plant something on the dark web dealing with meddling in democratic elections. Right now, that's Russia's favorite food. Your friend Izzy may be able to help you with that. I can get you assurances we'll lay off him."

"How do you know about Izzy?" Kate questions.

"Detective Beckett, we know pretty much everything."

"You don't know where the squirrel makes his nest," Castle points out.

"Touché, Castle. But if you pull this off, we will."

"If we pull it off, I'm arresting _Vtikhomolku _for murder," Kate insists.

"Good luck with that," Gray remarks. "But by the way, it might help you to know that his preferred alias is Perry Drake."

"Like Earle Stanley Gardner's Perry Mason and Paul Drake?" Castle smirks.

"I didn't say he was original." Gray's voice fades behind the trees. "And that name, you can Google."

"Interesting guy," Kate comments. "You think Izzy will be able to help us set a trap?"

"He's still on cloud nine about what we managed to do to the Toch brothers. If he's sure no one will come after him, I think he'll try. He might even give me a discount. But, if we do catch Drake, or whatever we want to call him, how are you going to nail him for Jeff and Amanda's murder? We're not going to get anyone from the agency to testify in court. Officially, they don't operate on U.S. soil. Officially, like Storm's boss, they don't operate at all."

Kate's fingers curl into fists. "But the N.Y.P.D. does, and Drake's never had to face me in my room."


	58. Chapter 58

Guardian Angel

Chapter 58

"Are you trying to tell me that if I text this number, I'll get a pass for offering to help throw an election?" Izzy demands. "Look, Rick, Kate, since you put the Tochs away, I'm your biggest fan, but I don't need men in black busting in here to drag me off."

"No one is going to bust in here, Izzy," Castle promises. "Text the number before you post anything. Get anything you need to reassure you. If you can make this work, we'll be catching a bastard who tortured two people the night before their wedding. The Toch brothers aside, who deserves to be nailed more than someone like that?"

"Please, Izzy," Kate adds, her eyes shading to emerald. "Jeff and Amanda have been waiting for justice for decades. They deserve some peace."

"I guess," Izzy concedes grudgingly. "You guys haven't been wrong so far. If whatever super-secret spies are at the other end of that number can convince me I won't spend the rest of my life in some black ops hole, I'll give it a shot."

Castle claps the master-coder on the back. "Good man! Let us know when the trap is set."

Izzy enters the number Rick gave him into his phone. "Assuming there is a trap, I will."

* * *

"Rick, do you really think this is going to work?" Kate asks as they return to her unit.

He reaches out to squeeze her hand. "Honestly, I don't know, but I can't remember Gray being wrong about anything either. And I wouldn't want to challenge him. You know, he once killed a guy with a melon baller, or was it an ice cream scoop? I get them mixed up. Similar shapes, but I wouldn't want to try to fill a cone with a melon baller."

"I've never used one," Kate confesses. "But, a scoop of ice cream sounds good right now."

"To me too," Rick agrees, "or maybe two scoops. It is unseasonably warm today. You want to raid the freezer at the loft, or we could go by Scoops of Fun. It's right on the way."

Kate's tongue unconsciously tickles her top lip as she grins. "Ooh, I haven't been there in ages. Do they still have seven kinds of sprinkles?"

"Twelve now, and ten different syrups plus the chips, including the special chip of the week, peanut butter."

"Castle, you keep track of specials at an ice cream parlor? How much ice cream do you eat?"

Rick throws out his hands in self-defense. "These days, only what I eat with you, but I subscribe to the newsletter. When you have a teenage girl, you have to keep up with these things."

"Of course," Kate teases, "you only do it for Alexis."

"And the other women in my life, except that on her present health kick Mother won't go near the stuff. She's still drinking that green slime."

"You mean her wheatgrass smoothies? She gave me one. They're not that bad."

"Uh-huh. Then maybe we should go to the Jumping Juicer instead of Scoops of Fun," Rick proposes.

"It wouldn't be healthier to do that," Kate protests. "We'd miss out on the protein in the peanut butter chips."

"Very true," Rick agrees, smothering a chortle. "We have to keep up our strength and muscle mass. Scoops of Fun it should be."

* * *

"Did Castle give you his little presentation?" Agent Gray asks.

"He and Detective Beckett too," Izzy responds. "They really have no idea that I also work for the agency."

Gray preens. "Of course not. Your geeky legend is one of the best we ever built, although the publicity from the Tochs and Bracken thing made some of the up-tops nervous. We're not supposed to have any footprint in domestic affairs."

"And the agency doesn't, just some nerdy hacker. So how much do you want me to give Drake to offer the Russians?"

"Make it an attractive package, but in case Beckett doesn't manage to snag him before he gets it to his handler, make sure it has a nice little bomb or two."

"Of course," Izzy agrees. "That's the fun."

* * *

"Kate, if you're going to work that hard to get your steps in, I should buy you one of those new Fit Bits," Rick suggests.

"What are you talking about, Babe?" Kate asks, continuing to pace the floor.

"Except for going to pee, you haven't stopped wearing a track in the hardwood since we got here. I was wondering if you wanted dinner in a to-go container. Are you that nervous about catching Drake?"

"Not nervous, exactly. Impatient. I just wish we'd hear from Izzy."

"Izzy's barely had time to decide what to post, let alone code the bait. I'm enough older than you to actually have had to learn how to program — at least a little bit. It's hard work, Kate. I sweated over the few lines of code I wrote, and they were nothing compared to what Izzy writes. I mean, what they show happening in 15 minutes on TV might be more like 15 days or 15 months in real life. He's fast, but he's not a speeding bullet. You need something to help you relax. Maybe some wine or —ooh, I know. How about a massage?"

"Babe, I don't know if …"

"Go for it, Katie," Johanna urges.

"Don't worry. I've got this. I'll take care of everything." Rick sprints for the bedroom before popping back. "Candles, bourbon-soaked vanilla or cinnamon?"

"Um, how about plain vanilla?" Kate suggests.

"You've got it!"

* * *

Rick surveys the bed and straightens the embroidered linen coverlet he switched out for the duvet. The room is alight with fat, sweet-smelling candles. He had to search out the cream that felt perfect on his skin when he'd pulled a muscle. It isn't sexy, but it is warm enough to be comforting without going over the line to obnoxious. What else? Music. Kate's Coltrane. He searches his phone and syncs the output with his speakers. That should do it, or at least he hopes so.

Still pacing when Rick returns to the great room, Kate is surprised to find herself in his arms as he strides the short distance to their candlelit retreat. Setting her on the edge of the bed, he tugs at her functional white cotton blouse. "Do you want to get rid of that, or shall I help you along? Never mind," he continues, undoing the top button. Quickly unfastening the garment, he folds it neatly and puts it on a nearby chair, and reaches for the snap above her zipper. "We can take care of these too." Her legs seem impossibly long as he eases her slacks down and lays them next to her blouse. He pats the nubby surface of the linen. "Come on, Kate. Lie down and enjoy the magic fingers."

Tentatively, Kate stretches out, pillowing her cheek on her hands, as Rick warms his by rubbing them together. He can feel the knotted muscles beneath his hands as he touches her shoulders. Working out Kate's kinks is going to take some time and some effort, but he can't imagine a task more worth doing - or more pleasurable.

* * *

Izzy gazes at his screen with a mix of satisfaction and horror. Who would have thought it would be so easy to hack a voting machine? The idiots who wrote the software left the door wide open. It will be all right. He'll offer the way past the faulty security, but he's already patched the hole and set up a phony path to fool anyone who tries to take the original route in. And he'll be able to trace the invader back to his machine, no matter where it is.


	59. Chapter 59

Guardian Angel

Chapter 59

It's been so long since Perry called himself Vladimir, he's almost forgotten it was the name his mother gave him. It doesn't matter. He's read the Perry Mason books — all of them. The TV shows never came close to the grittiness or sexiness of the originals. He's comfortable being Perry Drake. Perry even thought he'd found his Della Street, but a damn bastard got in the way.

The moment Perry saw Amanda Lester in the Russian Culture club, he felt as if lightning struck him. Even if he was supposed to avoid attracting attention, he tried to get hers. It was no good. She wasn't interested in Perry as anything but a casual friend. Amanda just had eyes for some rich kid named Jeff. He didn't even have a proper name like Jeffrey or Jefferson, just Jeff. Perry saw him when he picked up Amanda after meetings, and every time Jeff showed up, Perry became angrier and more jealous.

When her boyfriend started a laboratory, Amanda couldn't stop babbling about the great things Jeff would be doing. She even got Perry a job there. He wasn't that interested in architectural materials, but it gave him a chance to stay in touch with her and be ready to act on any failings Jeff might reveal.

Jeff had failings, all right. His lack of respect for men's true warrior nature was appalling. If Perry believed in Karma, he would have been sure it put him in that lab when Jeff's hand-picked people came up with a product Jeff couldn't have detested more. Perry would gain standing by passing it on to his masters while taking his revenge on Jeff and Amanda for the misery they caused him.

It all went wrong. He cut too deeply, and they died too quickly: before they could reveal the location of the records Jeff had hidden from the world. Perry's organization was far from pleased, but at least his handler kept him alive. Slowly he's clawed his way back up, and what he'll obtain today should earn him the regard he should have had long ago. The bureau will have to examine the merchandise, of course, but the seller is trusted and has a history of performing well. Perry sends an inquiry. While he waits for a response, Perry decides to go in search of one of the decadent American breakfasts he's come to grudgingly appreciate.

* * *

Kate stretches luxuriously as she opens her eyes and rolls on her side to gaze at Rick. His manipulations had drawn the tension from her body but replaced it with a much stronger need, which he was more than able to satisfy — more than once. When sleep came to her, it was deep and refreshing. From the crinkles at the corners of Rick's eyes, the morning is bringing him sweet dreams. She slips out of bed as quietly as she can, to avoid disturbing her lover.

She doesn't need coffee. She's wide-awake. But she could use something to eat. As usual, Rick made sure that Alexis could grab a decent dinner, but he and Kate had been too full of Scoops of Fun to think about it. He grumbled about setting a bad example for his daughter, but never stopped smiling while he complained.

After tip-toeing into the kitchen, Kate regards the contents of the refrigerator. It's fully stocked. It pretty much always is. Rick joked about existing on ramen before selling his first book, but his eyes weren't laughing. Obviously, he doesn't ever intend to do that again. And of course, he'd never let Alexis or Martha want for anything.

Kate's never seen Rick pass a homeless guy on the street without slipping him a bill or two either. Sometimes she wonders how down and out he's been, but when he does talk about times when he needed money, it's usually to deliver a punchline. She's sure the memories of his own struggles are not far beneath the surface. Kidding around is just his way of dealing with them — that and keeping everyone fed.

She's just about to answer the call of a quart of fresh strawberries when she faintly hears Rick's cellphone going off in the bedroom. He grabs it before she gets there. "Right. I've got it. Thanks, Izzy. I owe you, man."

"What's going on. Babe?" Kate asks, dropping down on the bed next to Rick as he ends the call.

"Gray or his people got Izzy on board, and he got a nibble on his posting. He managed to get the guy's IP address. Now he's working on pinning down the location of the device and finding out who owns it. He sent a taste of code to keep the buyer on the line while he tracks him, and the moment he has something you can use, he'll let me know."

Kate frames Rick's stubbly face in her hands, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. "That's amazing. If Izzy has hooked _Vladimir Vtikhomolku,_ or Perry Drake, or whatever he wants to call himself, I don't have enough to charge him. But his job in Jeff's lab and connection to Amanda makes him a person of interest. I can justify bringing him in for questioning."

"Fingers crossed," Rick replies, "but I wish Izzy had waited another five minutes to call. I was having the best dream."

Kate trails a finger down his jawline. "Was I in it?"

Rick pulls her close for another kiss. "You were the dream. But," he adds, throwing back the covers, "Alexis has an early thing at school this morning. I want to make sure she gets off OK. And we need to be ready for Izzy's next call. I'll start breakfast if you want to grab the first shower — unless you started something."

"I was about to grab the strawberries when Izzy called."

"I'll get them washed and hulled for you. You want to put them on pancakes?"

"That would be perfect."

* * *

Perry examines the sample lines of code he received from his dark web vendor. He's more than familiar with using software, some of it highly sophisticated, but analyzing it has never been his area of expertise. He could send it off to his handler to be checked in St. Petersburg, but running his find through that many hands wouldn't do much to increase his status. Or, he could take the leap and deliver his catch all at once. He'd get all the glory, but if something goes wrong, he'll also get all the blame — and suffer the consequences.

He has little reason to suspect a problem. He's using a trusted source with a long track record. Also, if he waits too long, someone else may snag his prize. That could be fatal, particularly if it's a rival agency. He resolves that no one is getting what's his. Not again. He sends his acceptance of the package. Now all he has to do is wait for terms.

Kate stares at the few sentences on her screen. Montgomery asked for a preliminary report, but hell if she knows how to write one. Most of what she and Castle put together was based on supposition. It was reasonable supposition but involved very little evidence. Can she mention agent Gray? How does she put someone from an agency that doesn't officially exist in a police report? She shoves her chair back from her desk, raking her fingers through her hair.

"Problem?" Castle asks, handing her a fresh mug of his distinctive, 12th Precinct blend.

"I don't know how you do it; put together a story from nothing. What am I supposed to give Montgomery that won't get me laughed out of his office or sent for a psych eval?"

"You want me to take a crack at it?" Castle offers.

Kate shakes her head. "No. If I'm going to do the cold case thing, I have to be able to turn out the paperwork. I just need somewhere to start."

"You already know where to start; you've told me about your procedure. Begin with the victims, Jeff and Amanda. What's special about the couple that would give someone a motive to kill them? Who would have opportunity? You've asked those questions a hundred times, Kate. Just fill in the answers. Not all of your data came from Agent Gray. And you can do what you've done before with sources that needed to remain anonymous. You call Gray a confidential informant." Rick strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. "He's probably the most confidential one you've ever had. And everything you've learned so far points to your person of interest. That should keep Montgomery happy for a while."

Kate offers a quick, coffee-flavored kiss. "Thanks, Babe. I needed that."

"Just part of Richard Castle's friendly service."


	60. Chapter 60

Guardian Angel

Chapter 60

As a ding announces the arrival of a text, Rick snatches his phone from the edge of Kate's desk. "It's from Izzy, Kate. He sent his buyer's home address. It's listed as belonging to a Perry Drake. Izzy also traced the payment to a Russian account. The customer's got to be our guy."

"Where is he?" Kate asks.

Rick does some quick mental calculations. "It looks like he's up near Hudson U. Maybe he's attached to the old neighborhood or something. It will take us at least a half-hour to get there — unless you use the siren."

"No siren, Babe. Besides being against regs, it would warn him that we're coming. I'll get a marked unit standing by as backup, but let's try to do this quietly."

Rick's shoulders slump. "You know, sometimes chasing bad guys could be more fun."

Kate flexes her fingers in anticipation. "The fun will start when I get him in the box."

* * *

Perry gazes appreciatively at the woman at the door until he catches sight of her badge and the man behind her. If he had to guess, he'd peg the cost of her companion's haircut at $200 and his sport coat at least ten times that. Why do beautiful women always have men like that around them? He does look vaguely familiar, but it may just be the type. Perry fixes a welcoming look on his face. "What can I do for the N.Y.P.D.?"

Kate offers an engaging smile. "Mr. Drake, Mr. Castle and I are checking out some details related to an old case involving a former employer of yours. There are a few things we have to get straight before we put it back in cold storage. I need you to come to the station with me so we can get them properly recorded."

"I'm in the middle of completing a business transaction," Perry protests.

"Can you keep on top of it by phone?" Kate asks. "My questions won't take too much of your time."

Perry's eyes sweep over Kate again. "I suppose that would be all right if we can get through whatever you need as soon as possible."

"I'll do my best," Kate promises.

From the back seat of Kate's unit, Perry leans forward as much as he can while restrained by his seat belt. "I'm curious, Detective Beckett. Why do you have a civilian accompanying you?"

"Mr. Castle is my observer Mr. Drake," Kate replies. "He's also been quite adept at creating narratives to guide my investigations."

Perry suddenly realizes why he recognized the man sitting beside the gorgeous detective. Of course, Richard Castle. His face and his books were often on display in the mystery sections of the stores when Perry hunted down his favorite books. He picked up a Castle novel once, but he preferred Gardner's intricate plotting to the high action adventures of Derrick Storm. He already doesn't care much for the author, either. It's always the rich spoiled ones that weasel their way into the company of beautiful women. He'd hope Detective Beckett would have better taste.

* * *

Castle balances a bowl of microwave popcorn on his lap as he perches on a desk looking in on the interrogation room. He could have asked to be with Kate, but Drake's already shown an obvious dislike of him and will be less on his guard with her. Besides, she's been looking forward to grabbing the reins of the case, and Rick will enjoy watching her work.

Kate runs her fingers over the soft black leather of the folder in front of her before opening it to her notes on Jeff and Amanda's murders, including yearbook screen captures. She hands Perry a bottle of water. "It gets a little dry in here. It helps to stay hydrated. Mr. Drake, did you know Amanda Lester?"

Drake's face remains impassive, but Kate notes a twitch at the corner of his eye as he gulps liquid. "I'm afraid not, Detective Beckett. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else."

Kate holds up the photo of the Russian Culture Club, and Perry nearly drains his bottle. "That's you, isn't it, Vladimir?" Kate asks in Russian. "Amanda Lester is standing right next to you, and you appear to be enjoying her proximity. So let's lose the pretense, shall we? You attended Hudson University, and like Amanda Lester, you were a member of the Russian Culture Club."

"So what?" Perry argues. "A man has the right to change his name. Sure I went to Hudson University, and I was a member of that club. I might have been acquainted with Amanda Lester. It was a long time ago. I don't remember."

"Really?" Kate presses. "Most people remember someone who helps them get a job. Amanda had a boyfriend, later her fiancé, named Jeff Amundsen. You worked for him in his laboratory. Do you remember that? Before you answer, there are employment records."

"Yes, all right, I worked in Jeff Amundsen's lab," Perry admits, taking his last remaining sip. "What of it?"

"The what of it is that Jeff and Amanda ended up dead, and you had a motive, two motives perhaps. The first one is that Jeff got the girl you liked. That must have stung. Then to make it worse, he ended up as your boss. And the second one is the discovery made in that lab. Getting your hands on that breakthrough would have made you very popular in your native country, wouldn't it? The popularity you're still trying to achieve."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Perry claims. "I want to go now. I need to use the restroom."

"You're a big boy. You can hold it," Kate retorts. "Or you can leave this room now, but if you do, you may not live to enjoy much more than a last piss. You see, Mr. Drake, that software you bought has some unexpected features, although your buddies in Moscow would probably call them bugs. You can be sure that they won't be happy with the man who let them invade their house. You talk to me, tell me what you did with Jeff and Amanda, you may live for quite a while yet. You might even have access to T.V. and the internet. Your people, well, we both know they won't be so considerate. What's your choice?"

Perry squirms desperately in his chair. "Please, I really need to go."

"I'll have someone take you as soon as you give me an answer."

"Yes, fine!" Perry exclaims. "I'll tell you about killing Jeff and Amanda. Just…"

Kate signals for L.T. to come in. "Take him to the men's room and bring him back. We still have a lot to talk about."

Rick watches Perry being led off to Holding and applauds as Kate emerges from Interrogation. "That was amazing! Masterful! Incredible!"

"It was very well done, Katie," Johanna adds.

Quite a bluff, you ran on him," Rick continues. "Who knows what Izzy put in that software? The Russians might never notice. Actually, better if they don't. They'll know you got one of their agents for murder, but have no idea there was anything wrong with what he sent them. Who knows what Izzy did? I'm sure it was a lot more subtle than what he did to Bracken — if less fun. So, now, you've got a confession tying up your first choice for a cold case. Do you want to lay your triumph on Montgomery? I'd love to see his face."

Gem-like sparkles flash from Kate's eyes. "Yeah, me too."


	61. Chapter 61

Guardian Angel

Chapter 61

"Where are you, Babe?" Kate asks, snapping her fingers in front of Rick's face. "You've been drifting off ever since we left the precinct." She points at a slice of French silk pie, uneaten in front of him. "You haven't even touched that. Are you getting sick or something?"

"Oh? No, sorry. I'm fine. I've just been thinking."

"About the next chapter in your book?"

"More like the next chapter in my life, our lives. Kate, Amanda Lester and Jeff Amundsen had everything ahead of them, loving marriage and a chance to do good things in the world. All of that vanished because of one jealous, spiteful sonofabitch.

"You and I have been looking ahead too, in a way. You've found a calling in cold cases, and I'm planning out a whole new series of books. But all of that could be gone in a moment like it was for Jeff and Amanda. None of us know how much time we have on this earth. Alexis has decided how to make the most of hers. I want to do the same."

Kate's eyes cloud as she cups his cheek. "Babe, do you want to stop working on cases with me so you can spend more time writing?"

Rick folds his hand around hers. "No, Kate, of course not. I love every moment I spend with you on a case or off. That's just the thing. I want more, much more. I want to know that your face is the last thing I'll see before I fall asleep at night and the first thing to greet me in the morning."

"You want me to move in with you — officially, I mean?" Kate queries. "I don't know about giving up my apartment. Most of my stuff is there and…"

"Kate, I'm not asking you to move in. Well, I am, sort of. What I'm saying is that I want to get married. Damn! I should have a ring, but I don't want to wait to ask you." Rick slips out of his chair to fall to one knee. "Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"

Kate's mouth falls open. "Rick, I haven't had time to think about it."

"Of course you have," Johanna interjects, "from the first moment you saw his face on a dust jacket. You finish each other's thoughts and sentences like your father, and I used to. And you can barely keep your hands off him. Katie, for once in your life, stop overthinking and let your heart take the leap."

Kate gazes up at the hope in Rick's eyes. "Yes, Richard Edgar Castle, I will marry you. But I'll still have a hell of a time giving up my apartment."

Castle grins up at her. "You're a New Yorker. You can always sub-lease it. Hmm, but about the ring. You're off tomorrow, aren't you?"

Kate nods.

"Then we can take the day and find something truly befitting my extraordinary bride. You want to go to Tiffany's?"

Kate wrinkles her nose. "I'm not into that kind of glitz. And there will probably be someone hanging around from Page 6."

"Good point," Rick acknowledges, rising from the floor. "We can go to the jewelry district and search out whatever your heart desires."

Kate wraps her arms around his waist. "I hope I've already found that. But we can look for a ring."

* * *

"Johanna," Rafael calls.

The spirit has been expecting his summons. She'd asked for a chance to help Kate find the right path, and now Kate's on it. Johanna can no longer draw cleansing breaths but does her best to prepare for what is to come.

Rafael gazes down with as close to a smile as the archangel's face ever displays. "The Father is pleased. You did well with your mission. But you've finished it. Time to come home."

"It's not finished," Johanna protests. "Katie isn't married yet. She needs a mother to help her prepare. Surely The Father can allow that?"

Rafael closes his eyes and folds his hands for a moment. "If your daughter has a need that only you can fill, you will be allowed to return. But tonight, you must say your goodbyes."

'Thank The Father," Johanna responds.

* * *

Kate gently pulls free of Rick's embrace. "We should tell Alexis, and Martha too, when she shows up."

"Mother told me she had a solid hit on her graydar. I wouldn't be surprised if we don't see her until morning, but let's go share our news with Alexis," Rick agrees. "She's working on a history paper. She can probably use a break, and this qualifies as family history." Rick leads the way up the stairs and knocks on his daughter's door. "Pumpkin, talk to you a minute?"

"Just a second, Dad." Alexis pulls open the door and points to the green goop covering her face. A timer ticks from Alexis' desk. "Gram said this would clarify my skin, so I thought I'd try it while I worked. I have to take it off in two minutes. Oh, Kate's with you. What's going on?"

Castle clears his throat. "Um, Alexis, Kate and I, I mean, we decided that…"

"Hurry up, Dad," Alexis urges, angling her head toward the timer.

"Um, yeah, uh," Rick grabs for Kate's hand. "I asked Kate to marry me."

Alexis' gaze shifts to Kate. "And what did you say?"

"I said yes," Kate replies.

"Good," Alexis nods. "Gram and I had a pool going, and I just won 20 bucks." The timer's alert fills the room, and Alexis heads toward her bathroom. "I've got to wash off. Good luck, you two. Talk to you later."

"That was easy," Rick remarks as he and Kate descend the stairs.

Kate giggles. "But it sounds like when we tell Martha, she's going to be pissed off at losing her money."

"She'll get over it," Castle declares.

* * *

Kate's brushing out her hair in Rick's bathroom when Johanna appears behind her. "Katie, I need to tell you something."

Kate whirls to face her mother's incarnation. "What's wrong? Did something happen to Dad?"

"Your father's fine," Johanna assures her. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that I have to go back."

Tears sting Kate's eyes. "I was hoping you could stay a while longer. There's so much that you could still tell me so many things I have to decide about the wedding."

"I know. And if you need me, truly need me, The Father may allow me to return. But right now, you're on the path he means you to walk, Katie-girl. Your work will be for the good, and Rick will try to make you happy — if you let him. So for now, it's goodbye. But know I've always loved you and always will. Follow your heart," Johanna calls as she shimmers away.

Swiping the moisture from her face, Kate returns to the bedroom. Rick holds out his arms to her from the bed. "Your eyes are all red. Did you get hair stuff in them or something?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. I'm fine. I was just missing my mother — wishing that she could be here to help me plan the wedding. You know?"

Rick wraps his arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I wish she could be here for you too, Kate. But she's probably watching you from up there and sending you her love."

Kate burrows into the warmth of Rick's chest. "I'm sure she is."


	62. Chapter 62

Guardian Angel

Chapter 62

"I want to go in here," Kate announces, admiring the display in the window of a vintage jewelry shop.

Rick presses the buzzer near the store entrance. "Whatever makes you happy."

A red light glows on a surveillance camera and the lock on the metal gate guarding the door releases. "What can we do for you today?" a middle-aged woman behind the counter inquires. "We got in a new collection from an estate sale, and I just finished cataloging it. May I show you some pieces?"

"We're looking for a ring," Kate replies.

"An engagement ring," Rick adds, wrapping his arm around Kate's waist.

The woman nods approvingly. "Congratulations. I'm Yetta Baruch, my husband and I own the shop. We do have some lovely rings. And if you see a setting you like, but want different stones, we can switch those out for you as well. Did you have a price range in mind?"

Castle waves a dismissive hand. "Not a consideration."

Yetta winks at him. "Just the kind of customer I love. I'll be right back."

Kate squeezes Rick's hand. "You don't have to go overboard. I'd marry you if you gave me the prize from a Cracker Jacks box. You know that, right?"

Rick takes a grinning glance around the store. "I don't think Ms. Baruch stocks any Cracker Jacks. We may have to go a little more upscale."

Yetta returns, carrying a velvet-covered tray. "We keep these in the vault — insurance requirements. All the rings have at least 2 carats in stones, and the workmanship is exquisite."

Kate studies the offerings in front of her; her eyes suddenly widening. "Where did this one come from?" she asks, pointing to a gold ring set with emeralds and diamonds.

Jetta lifts the ring to check the code on the tag. "It came from a lot of jewelry my husband found on a trip to Italy last summer. A dealer who had been in business for generations closed down and sold off his stock. Would you like to try it on?"

Kate extends her hand. "Please."

Yetta slips the ring on Kate's finger. "We wouldn't even have to size it. It's a perfect fit. And it brings out your eyes as if it were made for you."

"I think in a way it may have been," Kate murmurs, staring at her hand.

"Do you want it?" Rick asks.

Kate's eyes remain on the ring. "Yeah, I do, Babe — if it's not too much."

Yetta writes a figure on a slip of paper and hands it to Rick. He silently notes the $20,000. He would have spent a lot more to see the look in Kate's eyes she has now. Also, given Kate's lack of regard for bling, he's sure there's a reason for her fascination. Hopefully, she'll tell him what it is, sooner rather than later. He pulls out his titanium card. "We'll take it."

* * *

Rick hands Kate her vanilla latte and takes the chair opposite her at their back table at Java Hut. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Other than signifying that you're the love of my life, what's so special about that ring?"

Kate takes a sip of her latte. "This is going to sound weird."

Rick rolls his eyes. "Kate, I think you know by now that not much sounds weird to me. Go for it!"

"OK. I believe the ring belonged to my great grandmother, Nonna's mother. She died before I was born, but Nonna had a portrait of her parents that was painted not long after they were married. Great-grandmother Giada was wearing a ring just like this one, or at least that's the way I remember it. Nonna told me that the family was wealthy and owned a vineyard. When the country was bankrupted during WWI, the family fortune was gone. My great-grandfather tried everything he could to scratch out a living. From the way Nonna told it, the effort killed him. The ring was a leftover from better times, and Giada sold it to keep the family going and finance Nonna's passage to the U.S. If it weren't for that ring, or one like it, I wouldn't be here."

Rick leans over the table for a kiss. "Then it is precious beyond price. What happened to the painting?"

"I don't know. When Nonna died, most of her things went to a charity supported by the church. I suppose they sold it. I don't think it was painted by anyone famous or anything."

Rick taps his fingers against the surface of the table. "It would be interesting to find out. What was your Nonna's full name?"

"Gina Theresa Toscano Houghton. She and my grandfather, Chase Houghton, met practically when she stepped off the boat and were inseparable until he passed away. I don't think she ever got over his death."

Rick reaches for Kate's hand. "Hopefully, they're together now."

Kate leans over the table for a kiss. "I think they are."

* * *

The aroma of Alexis' after-school pizza rolls floats in from the kitchen as Rick attempts to concentrate on his computer screen. He's tempted to join his daughter in the savory snack, but he wants to get in his word count before continuing his search for the portrait of Great-grandmother Houghton. He's been working on it while Kate's been taking care of the paperwork to wind up the Lester/Amundsen murders. If he finds it and the ring doesn't match, he doesn't want her to be disappointed. If he finds it and it does, the portrait will make a sweet wedding present. Either way, he's keeping his search under his hat, but he wants his Nikki Heat book to be well into production before the wedding. The last thing he needs is nudging from Black Pawn on his honeymoon.

Well, that's got it. Nikki's chased her last red herring and is ready to tie things up. Her ties with Rook aren't bad either, although nowhere near approaching an altar. That's OK. Rick does not need to live vicariously through his avatar when he'll be marrying the real Kate Beckett.

He opens up his genealogy program. It hasn't helped in his search for the painting, but he's fascinated by the history of the Toscano family. They'd been raising grapes and making wine for generations until the war put an end to it. There could be a saga there if he wrote that kind of thing, but it's not his style. Not many car chases and superspies in a vineyard, but there were conflicts and romances. Black Pawn has a writer or two who might be interested. He can bring it up at the next author's mixer. It might even earn him a point or two with the board, but he's not holding his breath.

The Houghton family has connections all over the place, primarily through the church. If the painting was sold for charity, it's possible someone in the family or who knows the family bought it. Tracing down a purchase like that will be a hell of a job if it's even possible. But Rick's willing to do it if it will bring a smile to Kate's face. And who knows what else will turn up? When he makes his research forays, something always does. He might even find something worth putting in a Richard Castle novel.


	63. Chapter 63

Guardian Angel

Chapter 63

Apparently, Kate doesn't know it, but she has some rich or at least influential relatives on the Houghton side of the family. Castle traces down deep involvement in a seminary, a college, and various political and philanthropic organizations. He finds businesses as well.

From what Rick can tell, Kate's grandfather had to work his way up in the hierarchy but put much of his time into the philanthropic end of things. He and Gina weren't starving, but they weren't wealthy either. No wonder she fell for him at first sight, he seems to have been a pretty nice guy. From old pictures, neither one of them was bad looking, although not as attractive as Kate. Still, genes are genes, and Kate seems to have inherited some good ones.

Searching through the list of Houghton causes, Castle finds several that might have received Gina's painting of her parents. He bookmarks the site when he hears Kate's key in the door and goes to greet his bride-to-be.

Kate drops her tote bag and plops down in a chair. "Hard day?" Rick asks.

"Just incredibly annoying. You'd think with a slam dunk confession, Drake's lawyer would strike a deal and have his client plead guilty at arraignment. But Drake claimed poverty and got himself an eager beaver public defender. The guy only passed the bar a couple of months ago and still has every tiny detail of the law running through his head. He's going to double-check every word that I said, and that Drake said, to come up with some way to quash Drake's confession."

"Your trick with the water?" Castle asks.

"It's a pretty common ploy. I've seen some cops wait until the suspect starts to pee on the floor. I didn't take it that far. The twerp could try to claim duress anyway, except that the bulk of what Drake said was after L.T. brought him back from the men's room. He wasn't under duress then, so at least that part of his confession should stand. But the restriction on Drake's records could be a problem too. I wish there were more physical evidence to tie things up."

"I can talk to Gray about the records part," Rick offers. "The agency can open access to a redacted version — or they might just make something up. Getting Drake nailed will make whatever junk Izzy put together more convincing to the Russians. Win-win."

Kate pulls off her spike-heeled booties. "I hope you're right, Babe. So have you been working on your book?"

"I have. I'll have some rewriting to do before I send it to the dragon they call my editor, at Black Pawn, but I finished telling the story."

"So, who was your killer?" Kate asks.

Rick winks and drops a kiss on her hair. "You'll have to read it to find out. Hey, I know you've been up to your neck in alligators, but have you given any more thought to a wedding date?"

"I had some time to think about it in the bathroom."

Castle's right eyebrow springs upward. "I will attempt not to read too much into that. Any conclusions?"

"Maybe. The way I figure it, all the decent venues are booked for June. July and August are the most uncomfortable months in the city. Martha is looking for summer stock and will probably be out of town. Alexis will be busy with her forensics program. That brings us to September. It shouldn't be too hot or too cold, and everyone should have settled back in their routines."

"Wow! How long were you in the ladies' room?" Castle wonders.

Kate's teeth find her lower lip, and she shoves her hair behind her ear. "I was hiding. It's the one place Montgomery won't go."

Rick brushes his knuckle over her cheekbone. "At least you made good use of your time. Tomorrow would sound better, but September will be good. You want to start looking at venues?"

"I guess we better, huh?" Kate responds. "But right now, I'd love to look at something to eat and a hot bath."

"You want to start with some of that red wine you like?" Rick queries.

Kate stretches up for a kiss. "That would be great."

* * *

While Kate is soaking beneath her bubbles, Castle returns to his computer. "Art sales, auctions," he mutters to himself, checking for any announcements following Gina Houghton's passing. As far as he can tell, the publicity wasn't extensive, mostly blurbs in the religion sections of local newspapers, but there was one massive sale to put a new roof on a church. The description of the proceedings mentioned a portrait belonging to the Houghton family, as fetching a decent price.

Rick considers the stack of solicitations he receives daily. As much as he enjoys doing it, giving money to a charitable organization is much like prompting a line from Oliver Twist: "Please, Sir, I want some more." If he's lucky, whoever bought that painting will be on a list of potential donors forever. Now he has to figure out a way to beg the name. He has a feeling that a heartwarming tale — and his checkbook — will be involved.

Laying her hand on the hot water tap, Kate considers warming up her bath one more time but decides against it. She's finished her wine, and Perry Drake is no longer at the fore of her thoughts. Her wedding is, and she can't do much about that sitting in rapidly cooling water. She climbs out of the tub, reaching for a towel from the warmer. The only place she's ever seen one before she came to Castle's loft, was when one of the six women who picked her as a bridesmaid put her up for a night in a swanky hotel. She liked it then; she likes it even more now. Wrapping herself in a heated towel is a reminder of the arms that wrap one around her. She tucks a corner of the warm terrycloth tightly between her breasts and goes to find Rick.

The bedroom and office are empty, but a sweet smell drifts in from the kitchen. Rick is standing at the stove, stirring a saucepan on low heat. "It's almost too late in the year, but I was in the mood for hot chocolate — the real stuff, not the mix. You want some? There's plenty for two, three actually, in case Alexis also has a yen for chocolaty goodness."

Kate can't fight the smile that comes to her lips. The wine, the bath the towel, and now the chocolate; another layer of Castle warmth. She reaches around him, resting her head against his back. "Sure, I'd love some."

Castle turns off the burner and tips some of the liquid from the pan into two mugs. "Marshmallows? Alexis usually doubles up on them."

"Yeah, I know," Kate acknowledges. "Your daughter is a lot like you. She never goes small on anything."

Rick clinks his mug with Kate's. "I might surprise you. I'm willing to go small, um, smallish, on our wedding. I want a ceremony, not a circus."

Kate's smile widens to a grin. "Really? That's great because I was thinking the same thing."

Rick pulls a bag of marshmallows from a cabinet and drops two puffy confections into each mug. "So, did any brilliant venue ideas come to you out of the foam?"

"I don't know how brilliant, but what if we skip the whole venue thing and have it right here? No circus, nobody from Page 6 trying to sneak in, just family and close friends."

Rick presses a kiss into the palm of Kate's hand. "Detective, that is brilliant."


	64. Chapter 64

Guardian Angel

Chapter 64

"Babe, did you call Gray about the records on Perry Drake?" Kate asks.

"I left the callback code and a message while you were in the tub, but there's no telling when he'll get back to me. The Agency runs on a 24-hour clock, and they use all 24. It's always peak spying hours somewhere in the world."

"I guess it would be." Kate's towel starts to come loose, and she pulls it tight. "I should put something on."

Rick's brows ripple above his eyes. "No need to worry about that on my account. I like the terry-toga look."

"I'm sure you do, especially if it keeps slipping. But Alexis is here, and we have a lot of plans to discuss."

"We solved the time, roughly at least, and the place. Those are the two biggies," Rick points out. "We can relax and congratulate ourselves for a moment."

"We've had a moment, and I need something to do while we wait for Gray to call."

"I have some suggestions. I mean, the phone doesn't always ring when you're in the bath. Doing something even more interesting can set it off, too," Rick suggests.

Tiny drops of water fly from Kate's damp locks as she shakes her head. "Some activities are better without interruptions. For now, I'd rather throw something on, and talk about the guest list."

Rick's lower lip juts its displeasure. "All right, but it shouldn't be too long a list."

* * *

Gray studies the text from Rick Castle. It was inevitable that Kate would want more information to make her case stick, and the restrictions on Drake's records will raise red flags the Agency can do without. He can afford to put enough information out to put Drake away, but the question is what information. Building Drake up as a bad guy to the Russians will only make Izzy's handiwork more useful as the way is cleared for his worm to tunnel to higher levels. On the other hand, Drake has to look credible enough for his confession to stand. The Agency will be treading a fine line.

Gray mulls whether to explain the situation to Rick in detail. The author's probably figured out a lot of it anyway. He's always been quick at getting to the heart of intricate plots. Too quick. That's been the reason for keeping him close. With no one to pull him back, he figures out too many inconvenient truths. Castle's a lot easier to control within the fold than speculating on his own. Gray will have his people put something together ASAP, and he'll give Rick a call with enough to keep Kate Beckett reasonably happy. If Gray were Rick, he'd want very much to keep Kate happy.

* * *

The eraser of Ricks pencil drums against his legal pad. "So for your family, we have your father, who walks you down the aisle, your Aunt Theresa and your cousin Sophia. On my side, we have Mother and Alexis. That's easy enough. But now we get to the close friends part. Define close."

Kate taps her fingers against her chin. "Someone you can call when you have a problem or just want to talk. Someone who can call you. Someone you'd miss if they weren't there."

"How about someone who'd get exceedingly pissed off and make your life a living hell if you don't invite them?" Rick asks.

"I wouldn't put anyone like that in the friend category. Do we need another one?" Kate wonders. "Who did you have in mind? No, that can wait. Let's start with the real friends first," Kate proposes. "and then we can make a list of obligations. Lanie's always been there for me. I think I want her as my maid of honor. Ryan and Esposito have never let me down, either."

"OK," Rick agrees, "obnoxious as she can be, Paula's always been on my side. Stephen Cannell's been a mentor for years."

"The Stephen Cannell who produced the 'A-Team?'" Kate asks.

"My personal favorite of his shows is the 'Greatest American Hero,' but he's a poker buddy as a mystery writer," Rick explains. "He does the Shane Scully series, and he can give Patterson and Connelly as good as he gets. I have a few partners in crime from my school days, too. One of them helped me push a cow up the stairs to a roof."

"Why would you want to — never mind. I don't want to know. OK, real friends are still a pretty short list. How about…?"

"The enemies list?" Rick fills in. "You've already had your alcohol, although you can certainly have more, but I believe I'll need some to tackle that. I think I'll skip over the wine and go straight to the scotch. You want a…?" Rick's phone sounds an alert. "Saved by the bell. That's Gray." He thumbs the speaker icon.

"Rick, is Beckett with you?"

"I'm here," Kate says.

"Good, Detective. Our people are putting together a record of the activities of your suspect, relating to the motives for the murders, in terms of attempted theft. It will be carefully crafted to reflect what you need, but any other details will be excluded. Awareness of that dossier will reach the district attorney's office through official channels. It will be available without any flashing black screens. But if anyone goes after anything beyond that, we'll know. You'll have enough to force a plea, but that's all you'll get. We can't afford to endanger our other operations. I hope you can deal with that."

"And if I or anyone else reach for more?" Kate asks.

"Then the hand that reaches will get burned fingers, Detective. But I will tell you this. The connections we develop by monitoring minor players like Perry Drake go way beyond the players themselves. By accepting the limited number of facts, you'll be helping your country, as well as putting away the bad guy. You'll also be making friends you may need in future investigations."

"I understand, Agent Gray," Kate responds, her eyes darkening.

Rick's phone beeps an end to the call. He regards Kate's face. "You don't like it."

"I don't like any limits on information, Babe. As a detective, I dig deep."

"But you also put limits on what you reveal. You like to exclude or even mislead the press. The universe Gray lives in reflects his name. Things aren't black or white. The Agency picks the options it thinks will benefit the country the most, just as you pick the options that will benefit your cases the most. People hide things all the time, often for good reason. That's the way the world works."

"Babe, why am I getting the feeling that you know a lot more about Agent Gray's super-secret agency than you've let on."

"Kate, I swear I've told you everything I could tell you. That's all I can say."

"All right, Rick, I'll accept that for now. But you know what? I'm burned out for the night. We can go into the enemies list another time."

"Sure," Rick agrees. " Do you want your wine?"

"I think I'll skip it and join you in a scotch."

Rick grabs two whiskey tumblers and fills each with two fingers of aged amber liquid.

* * *

"Problem?" Director Argos asks as Gray drops a file on his desk.

"Not at the moment, but I think sooner or later, we'll have to read Kate Beckett into our operations. She'll get her conviction, but she's not going to forget about the Agency."

Argos shrugs. "That may not be a problem. Castle's going to marry her. At least if she's read in, we won't have to worry about him talking in his sleep."


	65. Chapter 65

Guardian Angel

Chapter 65

"Did you get much sleep last night?" Kate asks, propping herself up in bed. "I woke up a couple of times, and you were on the computer."

"I was chasing down a mystery that might be useful in a future endeavor, and I got caught up. But I figured out who I can see about it today, and got a few hours."

"So, you're not coming to the 12th with me this morning?"

Rick reaches up to stroke her cheek. "I will if you need me there. But if my assistance isn't pressing, I'd like to take care of my business and meet you later. Would that be OK with you?"

Kate's jaw tightens. "Sure, I guess. Until the Agency's creation comes through, I'll be keeping my head down anyway."

Rick kicks back the covers. "All right, then. With any luck, things will time out so I can pick up lunch. Maybe," he suggests, running his hand down the length of her thigh, "we can have another picnic in our little retreat."

The tension in Kate's face softens. "That would be nice."

* * *

Kimmy Lindberry firmly shakes Rick's hand before waving him to a seat in front of her desk. "I have to admit that I was intrigued by your query, Mr. Castle. You and I met before, briefly, when we displayed part of our traveling exhibition at Marlow Prep. The school has an excellent art history program."

"Yes, I know. My daughter, Alexis, is a student there and enjoyed the class very much. One of the reasons I came to you is that I remembered that display."

"You did say that your question has to do with a family matter," Kimmy prompts.

"Indeed, it does, but not concerning my daughter. I'm engaged to be married."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, Ms. Lindberry," Castle acknowledges. "My fiancée, Katherine Houghton Beckett, is the granddaughter of the late Gina Houghton. When Gina passed on, most of her things went to the church to be sold. There was a painting of Gina's mother Giada Toscano and her husband. Giada was wearing a ring. Kate believes that ring is the same one I bought her to celebrate our engagement. I would love to track down the painting to find out if she's right, and also make a gift of it to her as part of her family legacy. My research tells me that painting might be in the possession of your fine organization."

Castle pulls a folded sheet of paper out of his breast pocket and hands it to Kimmy. "This is an article I found describing the auction where the painting was up for sale. The buyer is listed as a K.L. from Discoveries Through Art. There's an image of the item, but the resolution is too low to make out any details of the ring. Does it look familiar to you?"

Kimmy grabs a lighted magnifier from her desk and studies the photo embedded in the document. "I do remember that acquisition, Mr. Castle. As art goes, it wasn't a major find. But of course, there aren't any minor works. The heart and soul of the artist go into every brushstroke."

"Here comes the pitch." Castle thinks to himself.

"If I recall correctly, that particular piece became part of a traveling collection, much like the one displayed at Marlow prep, but curated to be shown outside U.S. borders. All the details have already been recorded with Customs."

"Is the painting in the United States right now, Ms. Lindberry?" Castle asks.

"I believe it is, but we would hate to part with it. It would take considerable funding to track down and acquire something suitable to replace it. However, given the significance it would hold for your fiancée, we might be able to work out a suitable arrangement."

Rick can almost hear his checkbook groan as he arranges his face in an accommodating smile. "Of course. I would be contributing to two worthy causes at the same time — the support of your laudable efforts and Kate's happiness. Give me a figure, Ms. Lindberry."

* * *

Lindberry's demands hadn't been quite as stiff as Castle expected, but the price for the painting would have paid for at least a few years' worth of picnics. Kimmy managed to come up with a high enough quality photograph of the portrait to assure Rick that Kate hadn't been wrong about the ring. He would have been surprised if she were. Her eye for detail has been essential to her rise as a detective. He's tempted to tell her now, but it would ruin the surprise when he gives her his find. He can wait.

By the time Rick arrives at the deli nearest to the precinct, the line is almost out the door. He pulls a number and sighs. Sixteen. By the time he makes it to the 12th with lunch, Kate will be ready to bite — and not in a nice way. And she was already annoyed at him this morning. Rick leans out of the queue to glance around the people in front of him. They have cannoli! Rick makes a mental count. Even if a bunch of people in front of him choose one of Kate's favorite treats, there will still be enough to soothe her irritation with him. The deli just better not have too much fat around the edge of the pastrami, and the pickles better be good.

* * *

Rick stretches out on the blanket in their abandoned office hideaway to watch Kate finish off the last of the cannoli. "Find anything interesting in the archives this morning?"

Kate licks a bit of creamy filling off the tip of her finger. "I never got a chance. I got a call from the D.A.'s office telling me that they had the dossier on Perry Drake. They asked me to go over it. The Agency did a seamless job. Everything in there was true. They just left out anything that would lead back to Gray, or any of their other assets. It's all completely independent of Drake's confession, so his lawyer can't claim he made up a story to get away from me."

Rick guffaws, almost spilling his drink. "The 'escape the clutches of the terrifying Kate Beckett defense.' I could see a desperate lawyer throwing that against the wall and seeing if anything sticks. But then it is sort of the point, isn't it, to find some way to scare your suspects into confessing?"

"More like convince them that it is in their best interests to spill their guts to me."

"Which you do so very, very, well. Sounds like you had a successful morning."

Kate wipes her hands on a paper napkin. "I guess I did. How about you? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Rick can't help grinning. "I did. And I will most definitely put it to use in the near future. So what now? Are you ready to make your next foray into cases awaiting your warming touch?"

Kate checks her watch and straddles Castle. "We still have some time left on my lunch break. I can think of some other things to heat up."

"Then, by all means, Detective, kindle the flame."

* * *

Argos hands Gray a folder. "I think Castle could be of some help to us with this, and he owes us."

Gray flips through the pages. "He could, and he does. But he's supposed to be getting ready for his wedding. Not a great time for him to go traveling."

"Better than asking him to make a detour on his honeymoon," Argos points out. "Pull him in, Gray."


	66. Chapter 66

Guardian Angel

Chapter 66

"Gray, are you putting me on?" Castle demands.

"Rick, have you ever known me to joke?" Gray responds blandly. "We need you to go to Plovdiv. Hey, it's a great writers' conference. You always have fun at those things."

"Correction, I had fun at those things when it didn't mean leaving my fiancée in the lurch to work on cases and plan a wedding. What do you need me in Bulgaria for, anyway?"

"Because there's a lot of activity that brings people in and out of the country. More TV shows are shooting there, and our adversaries are using that traffic as a method for picking up and using information. The Bulgarians are billing Plovdiv as the 'Capital of European Culture.' The conference promoters booked a tour of a film set for the writers in attendance. The show they're shooting has Bulgaria doubling for Boston."

Closing his eyes, Castle shakes his head. "They must have missed the irony of the 'European Culture' part. But you still haven't told me why you need me to be there."

"You're familiar with movie and TV sets. You grew up on them, didn't you?"

"When my mother could bring me along, sure," Castle confirms. "And I've developed a few relationships of my own in the business, authors who also write films and teleplays. OK, I get it. You want me to play the mystery writer marveling at the glamor of Bulgarian showbiz while keeping my eyes open for anything that doesn't fit."

"Something like that. Specifically, there's a show that we believe serves as a base for passing intelligence. Code words are being woven into the scripts. The Bulgarian-made shows are broadcast on TV in Europe and South America and reach other countries via streaming services. We need an up-close and personal look at what's going on. That's where you come in."

"So, are you going to tie me up with the Agency's version of Q so I can be outfitted with superspy equipment?" Castle asks.

Gray nods. "We can do that while you're on the plane to Europe tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Castle explodes. "What the hell am I supposed to tell Kate?"

"The truth, more or less. We managed to whisper in a couple of ears at Black Pawn, again. They'll be exercising the clause in your contract saying they can require you to make PR appearances. They're availing themselves of a statistical model that predicts that your presence in Plovdiv will give a substantial boost to worldwide sales. Unless you want your publisher to sue your pants off, you have no choice, Castle. But the trip won't take long. The conference is only for four days."

"Four days too long," Castle grunts. "Fine, when does my plane take off?"

"Oh-six-hundred from our nonexistent strip. We'll send a car for you. You'll land in the UK and pick up a commercial flight to Sofia. From there, you'll pick up a local limo and look like any other writer arriving for a blast in Bulgaria."

The muscles on Castle's jaw pop. "I hope you don't mean that literally."

* * *

"Bulgaria?" Kate echoes as Rick loads shirts into a suitcase. "Black Pawn is making you go to Bulgaria?"

"Uh-huh. But only for a few days. Can you help Mother keep an eye on Alexis? If not, she may be able to stay with her friend Paige and her parents while I'm gone."

"Watching Alexis won't be any problem. But I don't understand how this came up so suddenly. Don't you have to register for conferences months in advance? I've been to a few on policing techniques, and I had to get my name in early just to get a room at the right hotel."

"The PR people at Black Pawn know someone with pull. I wish I could take you with me, but the arrangements are for one."

Kate sighs. "I should save my vacation days for our honeymoon, anyway — unless Black Pawn is going to interfere in that too."

Rick drops heavily to the bed. "I hope to hell not."

* * *

"These are cool," Rick admits, studying the sunglasses the Agency tech hands him. So, I can see behind me and record what I see in any direction?"

"Right," the tech confirms. "And they'll monitor your vitals too, but that feature is designed for our more active agents. A compressed broadcast will activate every 15 minutes, so your signal will be almost impossible to detect, and the glasses need minimal space for memory. You can also switch them to clear glass for indoor use. That should fit in with your writer persona."

"Not really. Castle fans have never seen me wear glasses. Hopefully, no one will be catching me on camera if I need to wear these. Any pens that can blow up a building or kill a bear from 100 yards?"

"No, but I have one that's a minitaser if you want it, and earphones that are sound amplifiers," the tech offers.

Rick's eyes light up. "Why not?"

* * *

"Martha," Kate inquires, pouring red wine into a goblet for her future mother-in-law, "has Rick had to take sudden trips out of town for Black Pawn before?"

"Ah, that's the stuff!" Martha declares, taking an appreciative sip. "He's made spur-of-the-moment trips from time to time, but he's always made sure Alexis was with someone he could trust. Sometimes things come up. When he was a little boy, I occasionally had to leave at a moment's notice to pick up a role. Quite a few of us in the acting community did. Richard once spent a couple of days with Lou Ferrigno. I was filming the pilot for The Hulk, and the big guy agreed to watch him while I flew back to New York for an audition. After that, Richard spent weeks wanting to run around in nothing but a pair of shorts, and he tried to dye himself green with Easter egg coloring."

Kate presses her palm to her mouth to hide a giggle. "I could see him doing that now."

"He is still playful," Martha admits. "Kate, I wouldn't worry about the trip. He usually feels so guilty when he returns from one of these things that he's twice as sweet."

Kate twirls her hair around her finger. "I don't think that's possible."

* * *

The suite where the bellman brings Rick's bags could be almost anywhere in the world. The furniture has the square, modern lines ubiquitous in four-star hotels. The room offers all the upscale amenities, including Wi-Fi, and Rick's key will gain him access to a pool and spa. He can also dine in four in-house international restaurants.

Rick only notes two vast differences from New York. The bill for the suite, if he were paying for it, would be about 20% of the price of similar accommodations in New York, and Kate isn't here to fight for the covers in the luxury bed. He misses her already and checks his watch, which he adjusted to local time at the airport. It's almost 1 a.m. in Bulgaria, but seven hours earlier in New York. Kate should be at the loft. He can call.

* * *

"Is Castle in place?" Argos asks.

"He's there," Gray confirms. "He was a little excited that he got to play with our toys, but he still doesn't like being assigned a mission."

"He doesn't have to like it," Argo declares. "He just has to do his job. Will he be in proximity to any suspicious activity?"

"Yes, Sir. He should be observing some on the tour he'll be taking as part of conference activities."

Argos nods in satisfaction. "Good."


	67. Chapter 67

Guardian Angel

Chapter 67

Castle would rub his eyes if he weren't wearing his high-tech sunglasses. The highlight of his trip so far was being on the phone for an hour with Kate, but that meant getting even less sleep before setting out on the morning's adventure. He and the other writers were loaded into a van and taken to a wooded location shoot. He can recall his mother being on several that, although shot in the U.S., didn't look much different.

A production assistant manages to scrounge up a few canvas-backed chairs for the writers, but Castle wanders around as much as he can. Several of the actors have set their scripts aside to memorize the lines from their tear-offs. Castle figures that it would look pretty natural for a writer to peruse a script and picks one up. There isn't much else to see anyway. He flips to a page that one of the actors is practicing.

The dialogue isn't much different from what he might hear someone say in Boston – if you don't count the accent. None of the actors, not even the American ones, sound close, but Rick imagines a foreign audience wouldn't be able to tell the difference. He's seen plenty of Hollywood shows that supposedly take place in Manhattan, with actors who sound nothing like residents of the concrete island. Still, to him, the lines that reach his ears from the rehearsing actors are jarring. But something else is niggling him. He quickly scans through his script.

The lines the actors are reading from their tear-offs don't match the original. Scripts are revised all the time, but those would show up in colored pages, not just the tear-offs. "The tear-offs are where the coded messages are inserted," he mutters under his breath," making sure he captures everything he can with his glasses.

"What's that guy doing with that script?" Assistant Director Greg Carney growls at a production assistant.

"Probably just curious. He's a visiting writer," P.A. Manny Garza explains.

"Scripts are confidential. You know that. Take it away from him now," Carney orders, "and make sure the actors don't leave them around when there are strangers on the set."

"Yes, Sir," Manny responds, rolling his eyes as he walks away.

Castle can see from the apologetic look on the P.A.'s face that he has a problem, and quickly records as much as he can of the script as the young man approaches. Manny tentatively extends his hand. "Mr. Carney says I have to grab that. I'm sorry. We can't risk the release of any spoilers. I hope you understand."

Rick shrugs and smiles as casually as he can, handing the document over. "Sure. No problem. Plenty of my work has been embargoed until the official release too." He watches as the P.A. carefully collects the other scripts lying around the set and returns them to the assistant director.

Dropping into a chair, Castle does his best to observe the rest of the proceedings. The filming process is hardly novel to him, but he never gets enough of people watching. The slim man whispering to Carney draws his attention. Gaunt rather than slender, he shouldn't look threatening, but Carney is obviously intimidated. Nodding, he signals to a stocky, well-muscled man on the outskirts of the set. Rick can't read the man's shirt, but he suspects that the word printed on it in large block letters is Bulgarian for "security." Carney looks in Rick's direction, and muscleman follows his gaze. "This could be a problem," Rick mumbles, sticking his souped-up earphones in his ears. The conversation between Muscleman and Carney is in Bulgarian, but Rick picks up "_pisatel_." It's the Bulgarian word for writer, and he's heard it thrown around a lot in the last 24 hours. If the Agency is monitoring his heart rate, it's rising.

* * *

Castle's blood pressure falls as he watches the filming. The shots are dead-on routine, much as he remembers from when Mother had him in tow. Long-shots, collar points, with multiple views and angles of everything. The procedure might be exciting to a first time visitor, but to him, it's deadly dull. As boredom combines with his lack of sleep, he's almost dozed off when someone calls lunch.

Even as he heads straight for the coffee, Rick has to hand it to Craft Services. They put out a nice spread. The amount of meat and dairy might make some of his mother's fellow actors recoil in horror. It looks like a couple on this set are sticking to the salads too. Sleepy as he is already, he's wary of helping himself to too much of the bounty. He can still feel the eyes of Carney and Muscleman on him, and their glares aren't friendly. Well, a few more hours and the van will return him to the hotel. He can enjoy the rest of the conference events in peace. If he gets really lucky, he might be able to talk the Agency into letting him go back to New York early.

* * *

The lunch break is only a half-hour, and the stunt coordinator is setting up even before the end of it. Rick's always loved watching gags, the film magic that makes the action look so real on the screen. It's almost time to climb aboard the van for the return trip to the hotel when he realizes he'd better make use of the facilities before he leaves. It would be hard to miss them in any case, but the portable toilets at the edge of the wooded area are identified by international symbols. Rick finds an unoccupied one in the shadow of a large oak tree.

The point of a knife pricks the skin at Rick's waist as he emerges. A heavily accented voice grates out, "This way." He's prodded onto a path leading between black pines.

"I think you've made a mistake," Rick responds, desperately wondering if he can reach into the pocket where he keeps his Taser pen. "I didn't sign up for the nature walk."

The blade bites more deeply as Rick's captor grunts. Rick stumbles forward, and a figure charges out of the trees, tackling the knife-wielder to the ground. Finally, getting his fingers around his weapon, Rick delivers the knock-out shock. He looks up at his tall, white-haired savior. "Thanks. Are you one of Gray's people?"

"I don't exist, " the man declares. "This never happened. Go join your writer buddies. And check in at the first aid station before you go back to the hotel. You're bleeding. Tell them you scratched yourself on a sharp branch. Act clumsy enough, and the medic will buy it. "

"I could make up a more exciting story," Rick suggests.

"A branch," the man repeats. He points to the body on the ground. "I'll take care of him. Get your ass out of here."

"Moving my ass," Castle agrees.

* * *

"So," Gray summarizes after Rick calls him on a secure cell, "you believe the assistant director is making sure the actors get tear-offs with the messages our adversaries want out there."

"That's what it looked like to me," Castle confirms. "And he was in cahoots with the guy who attacked me in the woods, the one your agent said he'd take care of."

"What agent?" Gray asks.

"Tall guy, white hair. Oh, that's right," Rick recalls, "he said he didn't exist."

"He doesn't, Castle," Gray claims, "at least not in my agency. Sounds like you've got a guardian angel."

"Uh-huh," Castle replies, skeptically. "Your agency never heard of him. Well, if he should happen to play you a song on his harp, tell him I said thanks again. Can I go home now?"

"You'll blow whatever's left of your cover if you do. Just go to your mixers and seminars. Be Richard Castle, the writer. When you're finished, we'll get you a ticket for the fastest commercial flight back to J.F.K. Kate can meet you at the airport."

Rick thumbs an end to the call. "Great."


	68. Chapter 68

Guardian Angel

Chapter 68

The regret in Kate's voice sighs through the phone. "I can't meet you at the airport, Babe. The chief is coming through to inspect the precinct, and the only excuse for not being there is being dead. Montgomery says that goes double for me since I have to prove I'm on top of things while looking into cold cases."

"It's OK," Rick assures her, attempting to convince himself. "I'll just get a limo. With Ubers getting so popular these days, those guys can use the work, and I can use the extra room for my legs. I'll see you at home. With any luck, I'll be back in time for supper with you. Alexis has a lesson with Holly this evening, doesn't she? The music can waft over us while we share wine and candlelight."

"That sounds nice," Kate agrees. "See you later, then."

Rick runs his fingertips over his phone. "Love you."

Kate kisses the air. "Love you too."

Rick winces as he stuffs his phone into his pocket. His knife wound is healing but still stiff, and twinges when he moves. It could have been a lot worse. Somehow things always get more complicated than they sound. At least The Agency is letting him keep his toys. He's not sure he wants to be without his special pen again. Hell, it even writes. Even without The Agency monitoring their output, the sunglasses are pretty cool too. So are the earphones. He checks his watch. His plane takes off in four hours. Plenty of time for the trip to Sophia and to make it through airport security. The credentials Gray provided should help that along a bit."

* * *

In full uniform, the chief strides through the 12th Precinct, his affect exuding self-importance. For a fleeting second, Kate's tempted to stick out her foot and trip him, but it's enough to let the imaginary pratfall run through her mind. Rick's visualization of cartoonish scenarios must be rubbing off on her. She wishes that he could do some rubbing in person, but that can come later. She has to help Ryan and Esposito clean up some odds and ends before pulling her next box from the archives.

The boys' case should be straightforward enough. Karl Bosson walked into a convenience store, shot the owner, and took off with the cash in the register and two bottles of vodka. The crime is on video, and the partners found the vodka at Bosson's apartment. But two things about the case are odd. A polygraph indicated the suspect doesn't remember the crime, and the seals on the vodka bottles are still intact. Why steal booze you're not going to drink? Bosson didn't spend the money either. It was lying on his kitchen counter next to the vodka. Polygraphs are far from 100% reliable, and Kate's seen suspects do stranger things. Still, the case definitely goes in the weird column. Rick should get a kick out of it.

The chief runs a white-gloved finger over the surface of a desk—good thing he picked Ryan's station. The glove comes away clean. The chief looks disappointed. Maybe he'll go try to dig up dirt somewhere else. Kate suspects that he could find more than enough at 1PP.

* * *

Even if he couldn't hear Alexis practicing, Rick would know that she was home when he unlocks the door. The inviting scent of egg rolls mixed with sweet and sour dipping sauce still hangs in the air. There are worse things she could be using for a shot of after-school energy. He tried more than a few when he was her age.

He's craving a hot shower. Hopefully, his flight-stiffened muscles will be loose and ready to go when Kate arrives. He can hardly wait to get his arms around her.

Rick is just rinsing off when the door to the steamy glass enclosure opens. A tantalizingly unclad Kate steps inside. "I thought you might like some company."

Rick leans down for a kiss. "You thought right." He grimaces slightly as Kate's arms wrap around him.

Kate traces a slowly fading red slash. "What happened?"

"Just a little misadventure on our writer's tour to a T.V. show location. I told you I was going, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did, but you didn't tell me you were participating in the action. That looks like a knife cut."

"it was a sharp branch," Rick answers automatically.

Kate steps back, holding his gaze. "Babe, you know I can tell when you're lying to me, right? So why did someone come at you with a knife?"

Rick presses his lips together as the spray rolls down his back. "Before I say anything else, I need to make a call."

Kate steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around her hair. "And why do I think that call is to Agent Gray?"

Rick just shakes his head.

* * *

After a stilted meal, a light knock sounds from the door. Kate isn't surprised to see Agent Gray on the threshold. "Detective Beckett, I'll get right to the point. The Agency uses civilian observers. We're hardly the only intelligence organization to do so. We recruit people who naturally do a lot of traveling and have an eye for human behavior. When Rick started sniffing around while researching his books, we knew he was one of those people."

"As I told you, I asked for information," Rick continues at a nod from Gray. "I cut a deal with The Agency. They gave me what I needed in exchange for me occasionally digging up something they can use. They also have ways of pressuring the powers that be at Black Pawn to help their interests along. Everything I told you was true; I just couldn't tell you all of it."

"Detective Beckett," Gray continues, "as a member of the N.Y.P.D., you're accustomed to keeping a lid on anything that might give your suspects a leg up. We know you can keep a secret. The question is whether you're willing to keep one for us. Before we go any further, I need your assurances that nothing I tell you now, or that Rick tells you about what he's done or will do, will go any further."

"And I would like your assurance that you'll keep him away from people with knives," Kate retorts.

"We always attempt to keep our observers out of danger, just as your force attempts to protect the citizens of New York City. Our batting average is usually a lot better than yours."

"And I'm expected to take your word for that?" Kate argues.

Gray's voice drops close to a whisper. "Yes, you are. I've kept my word to you. You got what you needed to nail Perry Drake. We can continue scratching each other's backs. All you need to do is agree that Agency business and any relationship we have with you or Rick remains private. So do I have your word, Kate?"

Kate rakes her hair back from her face and digs her teeth into her lower lip. "Yes."

Gray nods. "Fine. Then, Rick, you're free to tell Kate what happened in Bulgaria and anything you need to get off your chest about past missions."

Mischief lights Rick's eyes. "Can I show her my new tech, too?"

Gray's impassive face seems almost on the brink of a smile. "Sure. Everyone loves the toys, but the pen is going to need a recharge. It's USB compatible."

"I'll take care of that tonight," Castle declares.

Kate's eyebrows arch. "Pen?"

Castle grins. "This one is definitely mightier, or at least handier than the sword."


	69. Chapter 69

Guardian Angel

Chapter 69

"You OK, Babe?" Kate asks, sliding into bed next to Rick.

He rolls over to cradle her cheek. "More OK than I've been in a while. It was like keeping the stuff about The Agency from you was gnawing a hole in my gut, you know? Secrets are always barriers, and I don't want those between us. Everything on the table, right?"

"Sure, everything about The Agency out on the table," Kate responds.

"About The Agency," Rick repeats. "Kate, is there something else, something you aren't telling me?"

Kate turns away from his touch, staring at the ceiling. "You wouldn't believe it."

"You had no trouble believing your fiancé is a part-time spy if a clumsy one. What is it, Kate? What are you holding back?"

Kate's hands fist in the sheets. "My mother was here."

Rick props himself up on his elbows and stares down at Kate. "Are you trying to tell me that your mother faked her death or something? Kate, I read the autopsy report. If you saw your mother, you were seeing a ghost."

"I saw her all right, but she's more like an angel than a ghost. She appeared after I met you, but she was recalled after we got engaged. God thought she fulfilled her mission or something. She was around a lot, but I was the only one who could see or hear her. She recognized Bracken's name, and helped us nail him and Coonan and the Toch Brothers."

Rick shoves his hair off his face. "Wow, I guess I have two choices. I can believe that my fiancée had her own private guardian angel or that she had a psychotic break and hallucinated. I choose the former option. But why couldn't you tell me? Did Angel Johanna tell you not to? Can we expect lightning bolts?"

"I don't think so. Mom just made it clear that she was revealing herself only to me. And I was afraid you wouldn't believe me."

"Not believe you!" Rick exclaims, pulling Kate close. "Detective Beckett, you are the biggest skeptic I know. If you say you saw your dead mother, you saw her. Is she coming back?"

"She said if I need her, The Father may let her return, but she wasn't promising anything."

Rick inhales the sweet cherry fragrance of Kate's hair. "I don't know how to respond to that. It would be wonderful if you could see her again, but it kills me to think of you being in mortal danger."

Kate gently strokes Rick's wound. "I'm not crazy about you being in mortal danger, either."

"That makes two of us. But I had a guardian angel of sorts of my own. He kept that knife from doing any more damage than it did."

"One of Gray's agents?"

Rick shrugs. "That's the funny thing. He said he wasn't, and that he didn't exist. And Gray denied he was one of theirs too. And I have a feeling that I know him somehow, but I have no idea from where or when."

Kate pushes back a lock that flopped back on Rick's forehead. "Get some sleep. Maybe it will come to you."

"Yeah. My subconscious serves up all kinds of things in my dreams."

* * *

Ten-year-old Ricky Rodgers outgrew the children's section of the library years before, but he's not interested in the acting tomes his mother is searching through in the stacks to find, either. He wants something exciting, like his comics, but with the pictures painted in his head by words. That way, he can imagine anything he likes.

He scans the action-adventure shelves and pulls out volumes to consider. The titles don't mean much, except that he thinks some of them are also movies he's too young to see. The pictures on the covers of guns and women don't tell him much either. A shadow falls across an image he's examining, and he looks up to see who's casting it. The man is tall, tall enough so that Mother would have to look up at him, even in heels. She seems to like that in men. His hair and eyes are dark. He would look a little scary if he weren't smiling as he hands Ricky a book. "You might like this one."

"Casino Royale," Ricky reads, before flipping through the pages. "Ooh, it's about spies."

"Yes, it is," the man confirms. "And the author, Ian Fleming, really knows about spies. He did a good job."

Ricky nods his agreement. "Thanks."

Smile lines fan out from the corners of the stranger's eyes. "You're welcome. Enjoy it."

Kate stirs as Rick sits straight up in bed. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" He grabs for her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. "The dream fairy reminded me where I saw the guy who helped me in Bulgaria, before. I was a kid, and he looked a lot younger, but his eyes were the same. He gave me the book that made me want to become a writer."

Kate lays her hand on his thigh. "It's been a long time, Babe. Are you sure it was the same man?"

"I'm sure. Kate, maybe you aren't the only one who has a real guardian angel, except that I believe mine is still very much earthbound. I wonder who he is."

Kate's lips brush Rick's mouth. "Maybe someday you'll find out."

* * *

At the 12th, Castle studies the case file Kate hands to him. "Now let me get this straight. Karl Bosson appeared on the security video and had what he stole in his kitchen, but claims he doesn't remember doing it."

"That's right," Kate confirms. "He also thinks he might have an alibi. When I went over everything with him again yesterday, he said he believes he might have been at the supermarket at the time the crime took place. He goes there at the same time each week. But he uses the self-checkout and pays cash, so there's no charge in his records. Find Ur Foods is checking their data to see if he used his discount card, and Ryan is scrubbing the store's surveillance. Esposito thinks Ryan is wasting his time."

"Well, if you look for the simplest solution, Esposito would be right. The evidence says Bosson is lying. But then you're not looking for the simplest solution," Rick assumes.

"No, I'm not," Kate confides. "Something about this just doesn't feel right."

Rick closes the file and gives it back to her. "So, what do you think happened?"

Kate shakes her head. "Damned if I know. You're the one with the wild imagination. What do you think?"

"I don't suppose he has a crazy twin out for revenge?" Castle queries.

"As far as we can tell, Bosson has no siblings, but how would that work?" Kate asks.

Castle closes his eyes, visualizing his story. "Mother Boson has twin boys, but one is deformed in some way, perhaps a cleft palate or club feet. The Bosson family decides it can't afford the stress and expense that the imperfect child would bring. They drop the baby at a church or a fire station. He grows up in foster care, getting the medical services he needs but always feeling discarded. One day he sees his brother. He follows him and learns his schedule. The lust for revenge grows in his heart, so one day, when he knows his brother will be out, he commits a heinous crime, making sure his brother will be blamed. He plants the evidence and waits for the police to come after Karl."

Kate strokes her chin. "But if he wants revenge, wouldn't it make more sense to go after the parents? Still, you have a point. If someone observed Karl, they'd know his schedule and could plant evidence. I want to see what we get from Find Ur Food."

Castle wiggles his eyebrows. "Yeah. Me too."


	70. Chapter 70

Guardian Angel

Chapter 70

"Karl Bosson's discount card was swiped around the time of the murder, and he appears on the Find Ur Food surveillance video," Ryan announces triumphantly to Esposito.

"How the hell could he be in two places at once?" Esposito questions.

"He couldn't," Kate declares. "We just got the final lab report on the evidence in Karl's apartment. The bottles had been wiped clean, no fingerprints at all."

"Karl wouldn't have done that and left them in his own kitchen," Castle points out.

"No, he wouldn't," Kate agrees, "but there's more. There was D.N.A. on the money, a load of it, but less than half of the standard markers matched Karl."

"That lets out Karl or," Castle sighs, "an identical twin."

"Right, Kate continues. "Karl didn't handle the money, at least not without gloves on."

"The man in the video at the crime scene wasn't wearing gloves," Esposito grudgingly admits. "But there were too many prints at the store to pin down any of his."

"And there's one more thing," Kate adds, "the lock on Bosson's apartment door had traces of metal in it that didn't belong there."

"It was picked," Castle concludes. "Karl was framed. But if not by a vengeful twin, then by whom?"

Kate spreads her hands. "I have no idea. But I think we should start by looking at similar cases. See if anyone else with evidence like this against him steadfastly protested innocence. If we can find connections between the suspects, maybe it could lead us to the real killer."

"Or killers," Castle suggests. "Unless we're dealing with a master of disguise like Christopher Chance, with multiple cases of mistaken identity, multiple killers may be involved."

"Montgomery isn't going to like this. I told him we had this case all sewn up," Esposito confesses.

"Then you better go untell him," Ryan advises.

"I'll go with you," Kate offers. "It looks like to solve this, I'll be digging into old cases again. But to get justice, we may have to reopen, not close them."

"Before you beard the lion, I could brew up one of those Kona blend coffees the captain likes," Castle proposes. "Smooth the way a little."

Kate nods. "Good idea, Babe."

* * *

A returning Kate glances over Castle's shoulder at the notes he's making on one of her legal pads. Rick looks up. "How did it go with Montgomery?"

"About how you'd expect. He's not happy, but he's not about to railroad an innocent man, or keep us from clearing anyone who was framed." She taps her index finger against a heading in large block letters. "Doppelgangers?"

"Well, if we're not talking twins, that's pretty much what's left. Supposedly, we all have them, or something close. But the fingerprints would be different; D.N.A. would be different; even blood types could be different. Using a doppelganger to frame someone would take a lot of work, and whoever did it to Karl Bosson didn't work hard enough," Castle surmises.

"What we still don't know is why anyone would want to do it at all. Can you look into his life and see what kind of a twisted Castle narrative you can come up with," Kate requests. "The boys and I are going to go through the records for similar cases."

Rick reaches out to stroke her cheek. "Even with Ryan and Espo helping that's going to be a big job. And I can probably tackle my part of the work better from the loft. So I'll see you later. Good luck."

Kate leans into the touch of his hand. "Good luck to you too."

* * *

When Castle pulls up a regular background check on Karl Bosson, he's surprised at the number of entries for residences. It's not the pattern of a man trying to hide, or he wouldn't have used his own name. The constant moving on makes Karl look like a man trying to get away from something. Kate can ask him what, but so far, other than his protestations of alibi and innocence, she hasn't pulled much information out of him so far. And since he's no longer a suspect, he doesn't need to say anything.

A tune from "The Sound of Music," suddenly invades Rick's thoughts, with Julie Andrews exhorting him to start at the very beginning. "A very good place to start," he tunefully agrees. "So, where did young Karl Bosson go to school, and what did he do there? Rick's research reveals no prestigious prep institutions. Bosson attended DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx. From there, he went on to Bowman College, also in the Bronx, but left before receiving a degree. After that, he seemed to wander aimlessly. He worked a stint at a big box store, mowed lawns and plowed snow, before picking up a boiler room job hawking investment opportunities. Could he have called the wrong person? Most people getting that kind of unwelcome intrusion, just hang up. At most, the interruption is a minor annoyance, not grounds for revenge. There has to be something else.

Rick shifts back to Karl's days at Bowman. Could whatever happened to make him drop out of school be involved with why he was framed for murder? There's one way to check on his theory. But he should come bearing gifts — or at least lunch.

* * *

Kate can smell the pizza before she sees Castle approaching, his arms full of aromatic boxes. "Did you remember the peppers?" Esposito demands, eying Rick's burden.

"Hard to forget when a man prefers double jalapeños," Rick replies.

Kate inhales appreciatively. "This is sweet, Babe, but I thought you were researching Karl Bosson. What are you doing here?"

Castle sets the pizza down on a table. "I found something on Bosson that I wanted to check against other cases. Have you run across any supposed killers who went to Bowman College but didn't graduate?"

"That's very specific," Ryan notes, flipping open a box and handing it to Esposito. "This is yours."

Esposito gazes with satisfaction at the fiery toppings. "I saw one like that. The name was Miller, Jason Miller. Claimed he was framed like Bosson and left Bowman too. A couple of guys who were there with him told detectives that Miller was pretty out of it when he took off. They weren't surprised he'd do something crazy, but they never expected him to murder anyone."

"We need the records from Bowman College for the time Bosson and Miller were there," Kate declares. "We'll have a list to match against our cases, and if something made Bosson and Miller leave, we should see a pattern."

Ryan carefully folds a slice, tucking in the point. "I have a contact in the Registrar's office at Bowman. I'll call him as soon as I finish this. "Good pizza, Castle."

"Only the best for the best of the N.Y.P.D.," Castle declares.

* * *

Kate and Rick study the printout of Bowman dropouts next to Kate's list of suspicious murder cases. He runs his fingertip down the single-spaced pages. "Including Bosson and Miller, I count six matches. No way can that be a coincidence."

"You're right, it can't," Kate agrees. "But what would make six people drop out of college, and why would someone want to frame them all, years later? Is that nimble mind of yours coming up with a story?"

"I've got nothing," Castle confesses, "at least not yet. But doppelgangers have to fit in there somewhere. The frames wouldn't work without them. I need to think on my feet. Feel like taking a walk?"

Kate reaches in her drawer for her purse. "After the basement, and Espo's jalapeños, I can use some air."

With a crooked smile, Rick offers his arm.


	71. Chapter 71

Guardian Angel

Chapter 71

"Isn't anything coming to you?" Kate wonders as she and Castle thread their way through pedestrians on the sidewalk. "You don't have the bounce you get when there's a plot running through your head."

"I bounce?" Castle queries.

"You do," Kate confirms with a giggle. "But now you look like a kid going home with a bad report card."

"How would you know?" Castle teases. "I bet you never got one."

"You'd lose your bet. When I was in seventh grade, there was a guy down the block who had a '69 Mustang."

"You had a crush on the guy?"

"No, he was kind of a jerk, always acing my mom out of parking spots. I had a crush on the car. I read up on Mustangs. I even got a copy of Lee Iacocca's autobiography, so I could understand how he developed them. I got so caught up in heavy metal that I turned a few assignments in late."

"You got an 'F?'"

"I got a 'C,' but for me, that was just as bad. When I switched over to motorcycles, I made sure I didn't slip again. But you changed the subject. Have you got a block or something?"

"Not a block, I just don't like what's popping up in my mind. Everything seems like a government conspiracy."

Kate stops short. "Wait, I thought you loved government conspiracy theories."

"Usually I do," Rick admits, "but after Bulgaria, they've lost their attraction. Still, it would take considerable resources to put together an organization that turns out doppelgangers. Right now, I can't think of anyone except the various brands of intelligence alphabet soup who would have the wherewithal to do it."

"OK, government or not, how do you think an operation like that would work, and why?" Kate presses.

Rick resumes striding down the sidewalk. "The why would be weapons development. That's the why of governmental almost anything. Doppelgangers would be human weapons that could worm themselves into secure facilities and pick up all kinds of intel. The how is a much bigger question, one that in the age of DNA and retinal patterns was never successfully answered. But whoever was behind this mess managed to locate or create doubles somehow — at least one of Karl Bosson."

"I need to talk to Karl again," Kate decides.

* * *

"I can't talk about Bowman College," Karl insists, blocking entry to his recently unsealed apartment.

"Can't or won't?" Castle asks. "Is there something keeping you from discussing Bowman College?"

Karl whitens. "You know I didn't kill anyone. I don't have to talk to you about anything."

"Actually, you do," Kate points out. "We believe you have information material to a murder, even if you didn't commit one. If you refuse to share that information, you could be charged with obstruction of justice. You just got out of a holding cell. You don't want to end up back in one, do you?"

"No, but I signed an agreement not to tell."

"Seems to me that if what happened at Bowman has anything to do with you being framed for murder, you're in the crosshairs whether you talk to us or not," Castle suggests.

"Agreements to cover up criminal behavior aren't legally valid, and if you're afraid, we can protect you," Kate promises.

Karl shakes his head. "I doubt that. But if they're after me anyway, I guess I have nothing to lose." He motions Kate and Castle inside, points them to seats at a small table, and drops heavily into a chair. "Look, I never thought I'd get to go to college anywhere. My grades weren't high enough for a scholarship. I wasn't that good at sports either. I figured I'd just scrape by with some sh*t job like my old man did. But then this guy came to Clinton, my high school, while college applications were going out. He said there was a program at Bowman College, and he thought I'd be perfect for it. My body type or something was just right. He promised me a free ride. All I had to do was let someone from the program take photos and measurements of me every week to see how I changed over time. I figured it was some bio project or something, so I thought sure, why not. I mean, they weren't asking to take my blood or give me shots or anything. So I said OK. Then the guy gave me a bunch of papers to sign."

"Did you read them?" Kate asks.

Karl jams his palms against the table. "No, I didn't. I looked at them, but it was a bunch of legal stuff I couldn't understand, so I just initialed, signed, and dated where the little yellow arrows were. Then, when I started at Bowman, everything was OK, but a little creepy. I went to this tiny room once a week, and some guy me measured me everywhere." Karl looks at Castle. "And I mean everywhere. You know what I mean?"

Castle swallows and nods. "I get the picture."

"Anyway," Karl continues, "This went on my whole freshman year. I was a little freaked out, but my tuition and room and board were paid, and I had enough money to get by. Then when I wanted to go home for the summer, the guy who signed me up told me I couldn't. He showed me the part of my contract, where I agreed to stay on campus. They wouldn't let me have a girlfriend either. Somehow I'd agreed to that too.

"My sophomore year, it got worse. I wasn't allowed to be off-campus unless I had to go to the doctor or dentist or something like that. And if I did, I had to show the results to the guy doing the measurements. I spent a lot of time running in the field house. I was looking pretty good, but if some girl smiled at me, there wasn't anything I could do about it. We couldn't have even gone to a movie.

"My junior year was even worse. I wasn't allowed to be anywhere but the measurement room, my dorm, my classes, or the least crowded dining hall. I couldn't run anymore, so I paced. There was a track on the floor of my room where I wore it down. Then I couldn't stand it anymore. I was going crazy. I told the measurement guy that I wanted out. He told me that I could resign from the program, but I'd have to leave Bowman, and I couldn't apply for any other college. I either finished with them, or I'd be finished, period.

"I didn't know what to do. Without a diploma, I'd be as stuck as I was leaving high school. But I needed to breathe, so I left. I never heard about the program again until you thought I killed someone. But if the person who did it looked just like me, it had to do with all the measurements and everything those people took, right? How else could anyone do something like that? And there was something else."

Kate leans into Karl's face. "What?"

"Today, someone put a note in my mailbox. It said, "When you leave the program, you're finished. Talk about it, and you're finished with life."

"Do you still have it?" Kate presses. "It may be the key to tracking down the real killer."

Karl pulls an envelope from the bottom drawer in his kitchen. "Here. I hope it helps."


	72. Chapter 72

Guardian Angel

Chapter 72

"Where to now?" Castle asks as Kate leads the way to her unit.

"Bowman College. We need to find out who was maintaining that measurement room and holding Karl and others like him prisoner."

"You think the administration will just tell us?" Castle wonders.

"Maybe," Kate shrugs. "Ryan already primed the pump with the Registrar. But if not, we get persuasive."

Castle grins. "Something at which you excel, and I may be able to help a little, too."

Kate grins back. "I think you might."

* * *

"The expression on the president's face when you told him you were thinking of writing a book about Bowman's involvement in a murder unless we could prove otherwise was priceless," Kate chortles, fingering the key to the room Karl described.

"Sure. College presidents have to bring in money if they want to keep their jobs. A school like Bowman doesn't have a big endowment to fall back on. It depends on tuition and donations. An exposé from a bestselling author could screw up fundraising for years, and it would be his ass on the block."

Kate points to a nondescript door marked "43." "This must be it." She turns the key in the lock and peers in. "Not much here."

"This place isn't much bigger than a closet," Castle observes, "but at least they left the furniture." He grabs a chair and turns it over, examining the bottom of the seat.

"What are you looking for, Babe?" Kate asks.

"Code numbers. Usually, government property has them on labels, or they might be stamped on the wood. Maybe they got the chair from Bowman. But," he adds, pointing to a now-empty cabinet, with irregular cubbies, "if the program used that to hold its measuring equipment, it would be special order. It should have an I.D. somewhere. Help me tip it over?"

As soon as he and Kate ease it to the ground, Castle hunkers down to examine the underside of the storage unit. "Booyah!" he exclaims, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "There's a code."

"What agency is it for?" Kate asks as Rick snaps a picture.

"I have no idea," he admits, 'but whatever it is, has to get its funding from Congress. That combination of letters and numbers will appear in some obscure public document. We'll just have to find it."

Rick looks up as Kate refills his coffee mug. "Thanks."

Kate digs her fingertips into the stiffness in Rick's shoulders. "Making any progress?"

"Maybe. I found some documentation from a congressional subcommittee that oversees some of the D.O.D.'s budget items. It's stuff freshman representatives get stuck with, boring as hell. There are pages and pages of furniture listings with codes. But none of them are in alphabetical or numerical order—your tax dollars at work. I ran a string search for the whole code but didn't get any hits. I'm running pieces of it now. I feel like I'm channeling Jameson Rook, intrepid investigative reporter, except that if I put Rook at a computer for too long, my readers would pick up a Patterson or Connelly instead."

Kate nuzzles her cheek against his temple. "Maybe Rook's creator can get with Nikki's inspiration for a more interesting scene later."

"If I ever find — whoa! I've got a hit. This matches a load of furnishings destined for a subsection of the National Security Agency, the B.P.D., but the last three numbers are higher. The money for that cabinet predated this order, probably by a year or two, but we're getting close. The B.P.D. is the biological projects division. I heard some sneering about one of its projects that fell flat, around the Agency once, but of course, no one gave me anything I didn't need to know." Rick takes a gulp of his coffee. "At least I know where to look now."

Kate kisses the top of his head. "Can I help?"

"Yeah. Can you use your phone or take my tablet and look into the B.P.D., especially congressional inquiries? If it screwed up, there might have been a hearing or something. And check the archives of The Hill and The Washington Post too. If the bureaucrats dropped the ball, some Rooks or Rookettes might have picked it up."

"Got it," Kate agrees. "Do you always work this hard researching the details in your books? It's like you know exactly where to look."

Castle reaches back to grab her hand. "I've always done tons of research, but for Nikki Heat, it's been more personal and a lot more fun."

* * *

"I've got something, Babe!" Kate announces, springing from the couch. "It's from the Post. A reporter named Rafael Elwes was digging into a B.P.D. contractor who was misleading students used as test subjects. There wasn't much. Elwes complained that the N.S.A. suddenly classified anything about the project. There's a later article after he filed a Freedom of Information Act request, but almost everything he got was redacted."

Rick's fingers fly over his keyboard. "Rafael Elwes. Kate, Elwes is dead. The police in D.C. picked up a suspect who is claiming innocence, but the cops have the killing on video. Sound familiar?"

Kate leans over his shoulder to read the screen of his laptop. "Very, very, familiar. I want to talk to that suspect. I just need to convince Montgomery to authorize a trip to D.C."

"Kate, we are talking about, Captain 'Why do the feds insist on getting in my hair?' Roy Montgomery. We tell him we'll be embarrassing the denizens of D.C., and he'll jump at the chance."

* * *

"The department isn't paying for plane fare," Roy Montgomery declares.

"It's only about a four-hour drive," Kate points out. "We could be down and back in a day."

"Or I could pick up the cost of staying over," Castle suggests. "That would give Detective Beckett more of a chance to work her interrogatory magic."

"Fine," Montgomery agrees. "But this isn't a romantic getaway, Castle. Beckett will be there to work on a murder investigation, and the second she's finished in D.C., I want you two headed back here."

"Yes, Sir," Kate agrees.

* * *

Detective Robinson of the District of Columbia Police completely ignores Castle and stares skeptically at Kate. "I don't know what you expect to accomplish, Detective Beckett. We have Rodney Spillman dead to rights. He killed Rafael Elwes. There's not a shred of doubt about it. We have video and witnesses."

"Did he have a motive?" Kate asks.

Robinson rolls his eyes. "We don't need a motive. We're not building a case, Detective, we already have one, solid as a brick sh*thouse."

"Well, then you have nothing to lose by letting Detective Beckett talk to Spillman," Castle points out.

"We have a similar case in New York. I'm asking as a courtesy to make sure there's no connection." Kate explains.

"And you never know when you might need a favor from the N.Y.P.D.," Castle adds.

"All right," Robinson concedes. "Talk to Spillman. I doubt you'll get anything, but it's no skin off my nose. Knock yourself out."

* * *

Kate takes a seat opposite a shackled Spillman, with Castle at her side. "Rodney, did you kill Rafael Elwes?"

"Kill him? I never met him! I never heard of him. I was walking my dog in Arlington when Elwes was killed. I walk him there at the same time every day."

"Can anyone testify to that?" Kate asks.

"Just my dog. He's not crazy about strange people, so I pick a spot with no one else around. There aren't any cameras either. And you don't believe me any more than Robinson does, do you?"

"I might," Kate replies.

"Where did you go to college?" Castle inquires.


	73. Chapter 73

Guardian Angel

Chapter 73

"I went to a little school you've probably never heard of," Rodney replies.

"Let me guess," Castle ventures. "Bowman College."

Rodney's mouth falls open. "How could you…?" He shakes his head. "You're playing with me. You checked my records."

"No, we didn't," Kate assures him. "We believe you may be a piece of a bigger picture. Were you part of any special project there?"

Rodney's gaze flicks back and forth between Kate and Castle. "I was, but shouldn't be talking about it."

"Yes, you should," Kate argues, "because if you tell us what we think you will, we may be able to help you get out of this mess."

"And if you are truly intent on extricating yourself, do not leave out a single detail," Castle advises.

* * *

Kate consults her watch as a drained Rodney Spillman is escorted back to his cell. "It's a little before six. I could drive back to New York."

You don't want to do that. You'd be driving in the dark on unfamiliar highways after a long day. It would be safer to start back first thing in the morning. And you are driving an N.Y.P.D. vehicle," Castle points out. "We did take go-bags, and isn't it your obligation to protect department property?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. But where are we going to stay? We don't even have a reservation."

Rick wiggles his eyebrows. "You leave that to me."

* * *

Kate gazes around the plush suite at the D.C. Four Seasons. "Babe. how did you manage this?"

"While you were in the ladies' room, I called Mother to make sure she'll be around for Alexis. Or maybe that Alexis will be around for her. Either way, they'll be fine. After that, I contacted the concierge at The Four Seasons in New York," Rick explains triumphantly. "They have a network. His opposite number here informed him of a last-minute cancellation, so here we are, for a night of luxury and whatever else comes to mind."

Kate bumps him with her hip. "Something tells me it isn't your mind that's involved."

"You're right," Castle confides. "For one thing, I'm starved."

"You want to order room service?" Kate wonders.

"Oh, yeah," Rick agrees, "we could start with food before we move on to satisfying deeper needs. May I suggest the express menu? Faster delivery. Faster service."

Kate wraps her arms around his waist. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

A disturbing click rouses Kate from satisfied slumber. "Babe, do you hear that?"

"What?" Rick mumbles, drawing her more deeply into the curve of his body.

Kate pulls loose and sits up in bed. "I thought I heard the lock on the door releasing."

Rick forces himself to open his eyes. "Even if housekeeping got the wrong room or something, we have the privacy bar on. Whoever it is will go away."

The sound of splintering wood invades the room. Kate dives for the pistol she stowed in the bedside table. A figure in a balaclava points a rifle at her and Castle. "I wouldn't do that unless you're ready to kiss your fiancé a final goodbye."

Kate raises her arms. "What do you want?"

"You two are good at figuring things out. Too good," the figure responds. "You'll find out soon enough. Get dressed. We're getting out of here."

"Someone will see you taking us out of the hotel," Castle protests.

Kate can hear the sneer behind the face covering. "I wouldn't count on it."

Clothes lie on the floor where Rick and Kate had enthusiastically discarded them the night before. Rick reaches for his pants, feeling his very lucky pen in the pocket. Now all he has to do is figure out how to use it without getting himself or Kate killed.

After a second thug arrives and restrains their wrists with nylon ties, their original captor points them through the suite's door and to the emergency stairs. "Down," he commands, "to the basement."

"That's 14 floors," Castle complains.

"I'm sure a writer like you can use the aerobic exercise," the mask-wearer retorts. "Although from what I saw, it looks like you and Detective Beckett here were getting your share."

"That's none of your business," Rick growls.

The abductor pokes Rick with his rifle. "And you've been sticking your noses into something that should have been none of yours."

Kate's eyes flash fury. "Solving murders is exactly my business."

"But not inserting yourself into murders that already have a clear perpetrator. You, both of you, have been interfering in matters you don't understand."

"Bring them in," calls another masked man from the foot of the stairs.

Two masked figures secure Rick and Kate to metal chairs in a cement-floored room. The one who'd issued instructions to bring them, straddles a backward chair, leaning his chin on the chairback. "What am I going to do with you two?"

"You could let us go," Castle suggests hopefully. "No harm, no foul."

"Ah, but there has been harm, Mr. Castle. You and Detective Beckett have already ruined one of our operations and were on your way to ruining another. You threw a monkey-wrench into machinery that we started assembling years ago. And given Detective Beckett's doggedness and your inconvenient curiosity, we can only expect further damage."

"You'll suffer a hell of a lot more damage if our deaths are investigated," Kate threatens.

The questioner nods slowly. "That may be true. So what lies between letting you continue to deconstruct our efforts and permanently assuring your silence?"

"It might help," Castle offers, "if we understood the justification for your project. Why were you creating doubles, and why did you use them to commit murder?"

"Confirming that would only serve to empower you further," the apparent leader considers. "I can tell you that we are serving our country, but I believe you'd assumed that."

"Maybe you believe that you're serving your country," Kate throws back, "but this country doesn't send innocents to prison, at least not deliberately. So screw the phony nobility and cut to the chase. What do you want from us?"

"What I want is for you to forget everything you've learned about our project and cease pursuing connected cases, on assurances that it is the patriotic thing to do. Can you manage that, Detective? Mr. Castle?"

Kate's fingernails dig into her palms. "Without proof that I doubt you could even produce? You know that I can't."

"If she can't, I can't," Rick agrees.

Metal rings as the questioner smacks his hand against his chair. "Damn! I'll give you some time to think about what you're doing while I investigate other options. Keep them here," he advises his operatives.

After what seems like years to Rick, but he assumes are hours, the stomach of one of the guards rumbles. "When the hell is the chief coming back?" he grouses. "I need something to eat."

"You could go get something for all of us and bring it back," another operative proposes The hotel does meals to go. Just take off your mask before you pass any of the cameras or someone sees you. The restaurants won't care if you're guest or not, as long as you pay."

"You guys going to chip in?" Rumble asks.

The two other men dig into their pockets and hand over cash, and Rumble leaves.

"Two gone, two to go," Kate murmurs to Rick.


	74. Chapter 74

Guardian Angel

Chapter 74

Rick can hear rather than see the guard who shows up outside the door of his prison, announcing he brought food. The writer silently curses the increase in adversarial manpower, until the arrival suggests retreating to an adjoining room where he and his buddies can take off their masks to eat. One of the men rechecks the bonds of the prisoners before the three disappear through a heavy door.

"Kate," Rick whispers, "if we move the chairs a little, can you reach in my pocket? I have my favorite pen."

"It's a hell of a time to think about taking notes, Babe." Kate protests.

Castle's brows ripple across his face. "I was thinking of something more electrifying than notes."

"What? Oh! That pen. OK, let's just uh," Kate's chair grinds against the concrete floor. "Yeah, almost there."

"There's something hot about this," Castle half grins.

"Got it!" Kate announces, rolling her eyes. "How many men will this stun?"

"I don't know," Castle admits. "I've only used it for one, and I recharged it."

"Then we can only count on going for one of those assholes. We'll have to pick our time carefully," Kate cautions. "But these guys seem to be making things up as they go along. That should give us an edge - and we'll need one."

* * *

The white-haired man throws down his earphones in disgust. "Damn operation should have been taken out years ago! But if those sons of bitches could track Richard, it can't be hard." His fingers skim the keys on his laptop. Richard used his credit card at the D.C. Four Seasons. The signal from one of Richard's new toys is there as well. That should simplify things a little.

It's only 12 minutes from the base in Langley to the hotel in Georgetown. With skills honed over a lifetime, the master spy may even shave off a minute or two. He just hopes he gets there before the NSA's idiot squad does something to the overcurious writer and the lovely cop he's managed to woo. The boy always has had a nose for trouble, and things in D.C. could get a lot dicier than they were in Bulgaria.

* * *

"Rafael," Johanna calls. "You said The Father might allow me to return if Katie needs me. She's in trouble."

"The Father is obviously aware of that, and so am I," the archangel acknowledges. "But what would you do, Johanna? You can't interact physically, but there is an earthbound human who can. He's being guided in the right direction, and your daughter and son-in-law to-be are working together to free themselves. As always, The Father demands that free will play out, but the odds are in their favor."

"Is that what it's all about, odds?" Johanna questions.

"It is about The Father's children doing what they will, but in this case, that is weighted toward the good. The Father has many hands, and the most unexpected ones can fulfill his purposes.

* * *

White-hair eyes the screen of his tablet, tracking Richard's to the basement of the hotel. The older man brings up the plans to the building's lowest level. There are several small rooms, perhaps originally intended for storage or maintenance purposes. There's a small restroom, too, most likely designed for staff in mid-task. He checks his IR feed. Two body-temperature readings glow in the room where Richard's signal originates, probably Richard and Kate Beckett. There are three in the next room, but one is moving toward the couple. Damn! In a moment they'll have company. He can take care of that, but the other two may come running, and he has no idea how they might be armed. Units obtain all sorts of weaponry outside official channels. He's done it more than once himself. He takes a brief mental inventory of what he's carrying. The guns, knives, and tech should be enough. He's taken out a lot more than three men - with less. Time to get into action.

* * *

Rick can't help but note the garlic scent clinging to the returning guard. He's probably been eating the hotel's version of Italian food. Rick's had better in New York's Little Italy, but for hotel fare, it isn't bad. It's hard to tell through a mask, but from the fellow's gait, he looks happy enough. Unfortunately, he's also out of reach, if not sniffing distance. "Here anything from your Boss?" Rick inquires.

The aromatic guard shrugs. "He'll get back to us when he gets back to us. You're not going anywhere."

"That could be a problem," Castle suggests, "because we've been here a long time, and unless you feel like mopping the floor, I've got to go."

"So do I," Kate adds.

The guard shuffles his feet against the floor. "The boss didn't leave any orders about that."

"I'm willing to bet he didn't leave any about the feast you guys have been sharing next door, either," Castle argues. "We are just discussing another basic function. You could at least be a gentleman and take the lady."

"Yeah, maybe," the man considers, backing toward the other room to consult with his cronies.

"Kate," Rick whispers. "You have the pen. With any luck, you can use it when he takes you to pee."

"But that will leave you tied up with the other two," Kate protests. "I'll come back."

"The hell you will," Rick exclaims. "They could take you down in one shot."

"I'm willing to risk it," Kate contends.

"Well, I'm not," Rick returns. "Zombie brides notwithstanding, I can't marry you if you're dead. Look, the security guards up just a floor can help or at least call in reinforcements. Please, Kate, if you get the chance, be safe. Then you can worry about me, and…" Rick cuts off as the guard returns with one of his buddies.

"I'll take the woman. You watch him."

The second guard cuts the duct tape securing Kate to her chair. The tie is still around her wrists, but she checks the Taser Pen, concealed by her sleeve. "I can't go with my hands tied," she complains when they reach the unisex facility. "Can you free them for one minute?"

"I guess," the guard agrees, grudgingly, "for one minute. But if you try something, I will shoot you." With a clipper pulled from his pocket, the guard frees Kate's hands — a split second before falling to the ground at the shock from Castle's pen. Kate secures his wrists with a tie, also from his pocket, and grabs his gun.

Moving as silently as she can, Kate makes her way to peek into the room where Castle is being held. The two remaining guards are both pointing their rifles at Castle. "We can take them," a man's voice whispers behind her. Kate whirls, pointing her weapon, to find a white-haired man holding a gun of his own at ready. "Take it easy. I'm on your side."

Kate stares at the source of the voice. "You're the one who saved Rick in Bulgaria."

"Guilty as charged, but it would appear that he has a problem staying out of trouble." White-hair produces a flash-bang grenade and earplugs. "So, after we set this off, I'll handle the bad guys, you free Richard, OK?"

"Ready.' Kate agrees.

"Watch your eyes," White-hair urges. "And Richard will be blinded and deafened temporarily too. You'll have to lead him. But I believe you have quite a bit of practice at that."

Kate smiles up at the tall figure. "I'm still working on it, But I'm ready."

White-hair nods. "Let's get it done."


	75. Chapter 75

Guardian Angel

Chapter 75

Ears ringing, Castle tries desperately to focus on something. He can't make out more than a blur, but the lips suddenly meeting his could belong to no one but Kate. He feels her releasing his bonds and pulling him up. Her arm around his waist urges him forward.

Kate catches glimpses of the mystery rescuer taking out the remaining guards, but she's more concerned with Castle. Whoever the man is, he seems to know who the goons are and what to do with them. She leads Rick to an elevator and back to their room, quickly clearing it before bringing him in. "Can you hear or see me at all?" she queries loudly.

"Starting to," Castle replies, as in front of him, Kate slowly takes the shape he knows and loves. "Who was with you?"

"Your friend from Bulgaria. He seemed to know who those guys were — and not think much of them. He's going to clean up the mess."

Castle grins. "I didn't think much of them myself, but I wish they'd played Bond bad guy and told us exactly what they were up to. We still don't know why the doubles or the murders."

"We don't have anything that could get Spillman released either," Kate adds. "But we need to get back to New York. We're going to have too much to explain to Montgomery as is. As soon as you feel up to it, we should get on the road."

"I'm up to it except for one thing; I never got to pee. Did you?"

"No," Kate admits. "I was a little busy."

Castle gestures in the general direction of the in-suite bath. "Then, by all means, ladies first."

* * *

There has to be a way to figure out who those masked men were, and that is not a reference to the Lone Ranger," Castle declares.

Kate takes a cautious sniff of a hot dog she microwaved at the rest stop where she pulled in to fill her unit's tank. "I have no more idea how to do that then I do of what's actually in this thing."

"About the hot dog, you're probably better off not knowing," Rick advises. "But you said that The White-Haired Man, ooh, that's kind of like 'The Smoking Man,' in X Files,' seemed to know about them. He is obviously watching out for me for some reason. There's got to be some way we can get in touch with him and ask him what's going on. Hey, why don't we invite him to the wedding? Saving our asses certainly earned him an invitation."

Kate stares across their weathered outdoor table. Are you sure you're feeling all right? We don't know anything about him. Gray's Agency doesn't claim him, right? You don't even know his name. How would you send him an invitation?"

"It's called communicating through a shared secret," Kate. "I'd put a post on social media with something only he would recognize."

"About what happened at the hotel or in Bulgaria?" Kate queries.

Rick shakes his head. "No. Too many of the wrong people know about those events. I'll post about Casino Royale. That's between him and me — and you. If he really was the one who gave me that book, he'll remember. But I think we need to move the wedding up."

"You want to move up our wedding just to try to get in touch with The White-Haired Man?"

"There is that," Rick concedes, "but that's not the only reason, not even the main one. I want to move our wedding up because we never know what's going to happen. One minute we're blissfully curled up together in a luxury suite, and the next, we're taped to chairs by spies or kidnappers or something. I don't know how much time either of us has, Kate. We could get taken down by bullets or by a cab driver on a cellphone. What I do know is that I want to spend every possible moment as your husband."

Kate cups his cheek. "That's sweet, Babe. How close do you want to move it?"

"How about next weekend? Alexis and Mother will both be around. We'll have time to let your family and anyone else who matters know. Screw the unwanted but obligatory invites. If 'The White-Haired Man' is going to see my posts, he'll have seen them by then too."

"How about our honeymoon?" Kate wonders. "We won't have much time to plan or book anything, and I won't have as much accrued vacation, maybe a week."

"The whole idea of a honeymoon is spending time together. I have some ideas about where we can spend a week, or even a day or two. I'll just need to make a few calls. And if life gives us the chance, we can share all kinds of adventures for years to come, but we have no way of knowing that it will, do we?"

"You're right, we don't," Kate agrees. "All right, Babe, if we can get everything lined up, we'll get married next weekend."

* * *

Kate can't believe the number of flowers gracing the loft. The moment Castle announced the change in plans, Martha insisted on helping out. The diva called a set dresser with a direct line to enough fresh flowers to cover a Broadway stage. Alexis volunteered to help with the music, and Rick called his favorite caterer to provide the food. The number of guests will be small, maybe too small by one.

Rick is staring at his laptop in his office when Kate wraps her arms around his neck. "No response yet?"

"Nothing. But I don't know what I expected. If he's the covert operative we're guessing he is, he won't put out anything traceable. But he could have slipped an RSVP under our door or something." Rick scrubs a hand down his face. "He's lurked in the shadows all these years. I guess there's no reason for him to suddenly emerge now."

"He emerged to rescue us. He obviously cares about that little boy in the library. And," Kate rests her chin on the top of Rick's head, "his questionably grown-up version."

"I resemble that remark!" Rick retorts, snapping his computer shut. "I need to get away from this for a while. And," he brightens, "we have a cake tasting. The caterer wanted us to choose between two. The one we don't select is going to be redecorated for a bar mitzvah or something. If we don't choose first, we get the default."

Kate offers her hand, "Then let's go snag the first choice."

* * *

White-hair studies Richard's postings on Twitter and Facebook — again. It's clear that the boy, no, the man, is reaching out. It's dangerous to respond, but not as perilous as it used to be. He's no longer in deep cover. The pieces of the last assassin who tried to take him out will never be reassembled. From what the older man gathers, the ceremony will be small with no press or hangers-on. The chance of exposure will be minimal. It's been a long time since he's been around family, and no one will know he's around family now, no one except Martha.

The mother of the groom will be there. The unknown invitee can't see Martha being anywhere else. If she recognizes him, he'll have a lot to explain. It's been a hell of a long time. Maybe she won't know the man she slept with decades before. The hell she won't! He'd recognize her anywhere, even if he hadn't been able to watch her gracefully age on the screen. Damn! He needs to make a decision, and sooner not later.


	76. Chapter 76

Guardian Angel

Chapter 76

Rick stops just short of leaving the loft with Kate. "There's something I need to put out on the web."

"Another posting for 'The White-Haired Man?'" Kate questions.

Rick turns back to his office. "No. Something else. It just came to me how we can help Spillman. If his double is still out there, someone should see it, or at least have seen it. I want to send out a blast on every part of social media that I can reach for anyone who has seen Spillman. I'll request posts about him on the Richard Castle site, and promise a personal reply as an incentive. That should spur the Castlelites into action."

"Can't you do that on your phone on the way?" Kate wonders. "I can drive."

"I can do it a lot faster here, with a real keyboard and access to all our info on Spillman," Rick explains. "It won't take long, Kate. And if this works, maybe the others caught up in the nightmare scheme can be cleared as well. We'll get to the cakes on time. I promise."

Kate leans in for a kiss as he reopens his laptop. "It's OK, Babe, people's lives are a hell of a lot more important than cake."

* * *

Rick and Kate lock ecstatic eyes over mouthfuls of chocolate-cherry creation with a puffy marshmallow-like frosting. Rick swallows, savoring every crumb on the way down. "This is it unless we have a guest who is, poor soul, allergic to chocolate. One of Alexis's friends is, and we always have to have an alternative at gatherings."

"Not a problem," the caterer interjects. "I can include a dozen vanilla cupcakes. That should take care of it."

Rick arches an eyebrow at Kate. "OK with you?"

Kate tongues the sweetness from her lips. "Perfect! And we should be right on time for my fitting of my mom's wedding dress. I told you my dad saved it, right?"

"Right, but," Castle crosses his arms in front of his face, "I can't watch! It's bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding, and we don't need any more of that."

"You have a point. Lanie is supposed to meet me at the seamstress's shop anyway. You can drop me off, and I'll catch a ride home with her."

"Sounds like a plan," Castle agrees.

* * *

Lanie swipes at the tears leaking from her eyes. "Oh, Kate, you look so beautiful! You'll bowl Castle over."

"It fits you almost perfectly," the seamstress declares. "You must wear the same size your mother did. I'll just need to cinch it in a little at the waist. I can do that now."

Kate gazes around the fitting room, wishing that Johanna was there. Maybe she's watching. Kate hopes that the spirit is, but there's no way to know. She fights against the moisture welling in her own eyes. She should be grateful for her extra time with her mother, but Johanna was still called back too soon. A maid of honor is great, but Kate still feels a void that should be filled by the mother of the bride. She'll get past it. The only other person she absolutely needs, to take a partner for life, is the man himself. Rick will be there. Nothing else should matter.

* * *

"What's wrong?" Rick asks when Kate returns to the loft. "Did something go awry with your dress?"

"The dress is fine. Lanie is going to keep it for me until it's time for me to wear it down the aisle. I just wish my mother could see me wearing it and didn't have to — you know."

"Go back to heaven?" Rick fills in.

"Yeah."

"I think I have something that may cheer you up. I meant it as a wedding present and now seems like a good time to give it to you. Come on." Rick leads the way to the bedroom and reaches behind a rack of pants in his closet. He pulls out a wrapped flat package. Here. Go ahead. Open it."

Kate pulls the paper from the painting of her great grandparents. "Oh, Babe, this is amazing! But how did you find it?"

Rick shrugs. "A little detective work. I have, after all, been learning from the best. And I have one more surprise for you. It's in my office." Rick pulls aside the hypnotic painting of a staircase on the wall behind his desk and punches in the combination to his safe. He takes out a jewelry box and hands it to Kate. "I had this made to go with your ring. I thought you might want to wear it at the wedding."

Kate opens the box and runs her fingers over a delicate pendant. "Babe, it's wonderful."

Rick leans in for a kiss. "One way or another, you can always have reminders of your family with you."

* * *

The mirror on the closet door in his hotel room barely allows "The White-Haired Man" to survey all of his six foot four frame. He owns a tuxedo, although he can remember few occasions when he needed the fancy togs. A meet in Morocco was one, and he had a sense of being in a movie rather than doing his real job. Most of the time, however, the last thing he needs is to cut a dashing figure — or any notable figure at all. He wears whatever blends in, whether that's camos or a business suit. Today, it's the latter. He just wants to look like another guest. He figures that if he slips in just before the ceremony and leaves soon afterward, he can avoid the usual mindless exchange of small talk.

The future wedding guest checks his watch. The ceremony starts in two hours, and it won't take him even half that long to get there. He has time to monitor the chatter always going on in the intelligence world. There might be some news of what the NSA did with the incompetent operatives he dumped on its doorstep. Hopefully, with the extra noise Richard and Kate have been making, they're shutting down the whole insane operation instead of just scurrying to cover their tracks.

* * *

Alexis knocks on the door of the guest room designated as the bridal dressing room. "Kate, Holly's here. She's setting up to play your processional and wants to know if you're sticking with the Pachelbel Canon or you want to switch to the Lohengrin."

"Pachelbel, but she's all ready for the other song too, right?"

Alexis' pale eyes light up. "She's ready, and she loves it. She even watched the movie for extra context."

"A true artist always prepares," Martha declares. "Speaking of preparing, Katherine, do you have all the requisite bridal talismans?"

Kate turns to her future mother-in-law in confusion. "What talismans, Martha?"

Martha sweeps her hand through the air. "Well, of course, something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue."

"My dress is old and borrowed. The pendant Rick gave me is new. But I don't have the blue."

"I got you one of those blue garters, just in case," Lanie recalls. "It's in my purse. I'll get it."

"Katherine, I think I can add to that," Martha suggests, reaching into the pocket of her only slightly flamboyant jacket. She holds out a small box containing a pair of sapphire earrings. Women in my family have worn these, but only women of substance and achievement. You've accomplished the greatest feat of all, making my son happy. You should wear them now."

Kate looks down at the sparkling gems, grateful that the makeup Lanie carefully applied to her eyes is waterproof. Legacies from her family, old and new, will bless her passage into her new life. "Martha, I'm honored."


	77. Chapter 77

Guardian Angel

Chapter 77

The ceremony is about to start when White-Hair arrives and lurks at the edge of the small crowd of visitors, out of Martha's line of sight. The enchanting opening strains of the Pachelbel Canon float from Holly's violin, competing with thunder from a sudden storm. Determined to ignore the weather's intrusion, Kate follows Lanie down the flower-strewn improvised aisle, on her father's arm. She's halfway to where Castle waits with Ryan and Esposito when the loft goes dark.

White-Hair's hand automatically covers a small put powerful concealed weapon as Alexis runs to the window. "The lights are out everywhere I can see," she calls. "It could be the whole city."

Martha springs from her place of honor in the front row. "Candles, we need lots of candles. This place will glow with the flames of love."

"Right," Alexis agrees. "there's a lighter by the fireplace and another one in the kitchen."

"There's one in the master bedroom too," Castle recalls, carefully making his way through the shadows by memory.

Lanie reaches out to Kate. "Girlfriend, you're shaking. That's not like the kickass Kate I know. It's just a blackout. The lightning probably blew a transformer or something. Castle and Alexis and Martha will get this place lit up, and it will be even more romantic."

Kate sinks into the chair vacated by Martha. "I don't know, Lanie. Maybe it's an omen. Maybe I should have taken the hint when Castle and I were abducted. Maybe we're not supposed to be getting married."

"Girl, that's just crazy!" Lanie declares. "But that's always been you, Kate. As long as we've known each other, you've been scared to grab onto something that will make you happy, onto love, because you're afraid of losing it like you lost your mother."

"Katie," Johanna demands, shimmering into her daughter's view. "Listen to your friend. You can't shield yourself from loss. No one can. That's why it's so important to grab every moment you have on this earth and make the most of it. Castle loves you. He's done everything he could to make you happy. Every time you look at him, and with every word you say, it doesn't take an angel to see how much you love him, too. If you step back now, you won't just be hurting yourself; you'll be hurting him. How can the brave little girl I raised do that?"

"She can't," Kate murmurs as candle flames begin to illuminate the gathering.

"Can't what?" Lanie asks.

Kate squares her shoulders and pushes out of her chair. "Nothing. As soon as Rick gets back here, let's get this show back on the road."

Smiling, Rick rejoins Kate at the makeshift altar. The minister holds up his hands and clears his throat to settle the guests. "We are gathered here to witness the joining of Katherine Houghton Beckett and Richard Edgar Castle. These two people have faced many challenges and dangers in their lives. Those obstacles have driven them to grasp and appreciate every moment they experience, supported and enfolded in their love. We celebrate this joyous moment with them. The couple has crafted their own vows, and I invite them to speak those words now. Richard?"

Gently taking his fiancée's hands, Rick begins. "Kate, you are quite simply, the love of my life. You are the sunshine in my day and the moon and stars that light my night. You are an adventure that never stops unfolding and revealing new wonders. I will love you, cherish you, support you, and be by your side through whatever unfolds before us." Castle looks toward Ryan, who passes him a gold band. Rick slips the emblem of his vow on Kate's finger. "Always."

The minister nods. "Katherine?"

"Rick, before we met, you were the author of the words that brought me comfort. Even then, I loved you for getting me through dark days and even darker nights, but the real man is so much more to me. You are my partner in every way, and I will love you, cherish you, support you, and be by your side through whatever life brings." Lanie hands Kate Rick's ring. With a slight boggle at his knuckle, she slides it down his finger. "Always."

"As Richard and Katherine have proclaimed their vows and sealed that promise with the exchange of rings," the minister intones, "by the powers invested in me by the state and city of New York, I now pronounce them husband and wife. Richard, you may kiss the … never mind, you're already doing it."

"I've Finally Found Someone" pours from Holly's instrument. As the guests rise and applaud, White-Hair heads for the door, but Martha's unyielding grip of his arm prevents his escape. "I don't know what you're doing here, Jack, but you have a lot of years' worth of explaining to do."

Rick slowly focuses on the confrontation between Martha and the man of mystery. "Mother, you know him?"

"Look, I'll explain, but can we please take this to another room?" Jack requests.

Castle gestures toward his office and grabs a fat candle. "In there." Kate takes his hand as he leads the way.

"First," Castle demands, "how do you and my mother know each other?"

Jack and Martha exchange looks. "Richard," Jack admits, "I'm your father."

"Father?" Castle echoes. "A father is the person who stands over a crib to make sure his child is breathing. A father is there for the school plays, the visits to the emergency room, and the embarrassing trips to the drugstore. A father doesn't turn away from whatever it takes to make a child feel safe and loved. It's not about a night of passion. That makes you a sperm donor, not a father."

"Richard!" Martha rebukes.

"No. he's right," Jack interjects. "I never intended to be a father. Someone like me is not supposed to have relationships or ties of any kind. They can be used as leverage against me and our country. But I had just finished up a job at the U.N., or I thought I had. I succumbed to the spell of the irresistible Martha Rodgers and had a moment of weakness. Apparently, so did a condom.

"The next morning, I found out that my mission had gone south. I had to get out of the country fast. I wasn't stateside for a year, Richard. That's when I found out about you. I tried to watch over you when I could. I gave you the book, and I was really proud when I read your first novel. I greased the wheels a little at the Agency too. You got your entry there mostly on your own, but for a little while, I felt like a father. I felt that way again in Bulgaria, in the hotel, and just now watching you and Kate tie the knot."

"You said you don't exist. So what are you, a spy?" Castle prods.

"I don't exist, not officially," Jack replies. "I do jobs for our country, jobs that require plausible deniability. In a way, that's what those idiots who put together the operation you and Kate got caught up in were working on: making more nonentities."

"I need more of an explanation than that," Kate presses. "Whoever those people are, they're behind multiple murders and framing innocent people for committing them."

"I know," Jack admits. "Not our country's finest hour. The original idea of the project was to create agents who could take out the bad guys while always maintaining an alibi."

"Doppelgangers," Castle assumes.

"More or less," Jack agrees. "But the operation went off the rails. The quality of modern DNA analysis made it almost useless. So the people behind it started framing the people involved. That way, anything they claimed would be discredited."

"The doubles committed murders!" Kate argues.

"It's not as bad as you think," Jack explains. "The victims were sleeper agents, planted here while the Soviet Union still existed."

"They still framed innocent people." Rick points out.

"From the latest chatter, you and Kate are getting some traction clearing the innocents. And now that the organization is disbanded, your efforts will be supplemented. You two have done good work. It will pay off," Jack predicts.

"Something well worth celebrating, along with your marriage," Martha declares. "Richard, Katherine, you should get back to your guests and pop the corks."

"And I should leave," Jack insists.

Martha blocks his path. "You and I have a few things to discuss first."


	78. Chapter 78

Guardian Angel

Chapter 78

Martha perches on the edge of Richard's office couch, and jerks Jack down beside her. "So it was supposed to be a one-night stand?"

"No, Martha, it wasn't," Jack protests. "I believed I'd be in the city for a while. And you know damn well how attracted to you I was." Jack's lopsided smile is eerily reminiscent of his son's. "Still am."

"Screw the B.S., Jack," Martha spits out. "That night, you managed to convince me we had a future together. Even if you hadn't needed to flee the country, assuming you're not making that up too, you never intended to have a real relationship with me, did you?"

"I explained that, Martha, I can't have one with anyone."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

"Richard invited me."

"He invited you because he wanted information on homicides, not because he was expecting a confession of fatherhood."

"You made that happen, Martha. I was just going to slip away."

"Which would have left Richard and Katherine to go off on their honeymoon with the fate of an innocent man hanging over their heads. You might as well have not shown up at all as pull that kind of a disappearing act. If nothing else, you owe Richard, both of them actually, and your granddaughter too, a few facts."

Jack squints at her. "You mean like genetic diseases? I'm not carrying any that I know of. There's DNA testing for that kind of thing now, and the government likes its assets healthy.

Martha shakes her head. "Thank heavens for small favors. How about the rest of the family background, Jack? Alexis had to do a family tree for school, and a quarter of it was blank."

Jack reaches for Martha's hand, but she pulls away. "Martha, I don't know any more about that than you do. I was too young to remember, but I'm told that I was found abandoned in a bus station bathroom. I grew up a ward of the state, in a string of foster homes and institutions. For some reason, I have a talent for languages. Someone picked up on that, and I was recruited right out of high school. Uncle Sam sent me to school to learn six of them and taught me the other skills I needed for my job. That's been my life. I don't know anything about families. I've never had one. Until I discovered you'd given birth to Richard, I never expected to."

Martha slowly exhales a breath. "I suppose that explains a lot."

"Then maybe you can explain something to me," Jack proposes. "How did Richard learn to be a father? He didn't have a model either."

"He worked at it, Jack. Alexis' mother is pretty useless. She isn't even a decent actress. I don't know what Richard saw in her. When she went off and left caring for Alexis to him, he wanted his daughter to feel secure and loved every minute. That was more than I managed to do for him some years." Martha confesses. "Richard swore he'd be the best father ever. So he read the books and took parenting classes before becoming what Alexis calls "the cool dad." He'd jump in front of an oncoming train to save her. And now I think he'd do the same for Katherine. It's like he wants to give them everything he missed and then some. You sired a good man, Jack."

"I can see that, Martha," Jack agrees as the lights come back on.

Martha blinks in the new illumination. "Perhaps this is a sign that you do. I'm going to join the celebration now. Will you be joining me?"

"I can't, Martha. You have to understand now that one question will be one too many. But I will be around. Whenever I could, I always have been."

* * *

"Are you looking for someone?" Castle asks as Kate gazes around the great room.

"My mother. She showed up just after the lights went out. At that moment, I really needed a mom. She stayed for the ceremony too, but I don't see her now."

Rick lightly brushes Kate's hair with his lips. "You told me she might come when you needed her. It sounds like she did. Maybe she'll be back if you ever need her again."

"You think your father will ever be back?" Kate wonders.

Castle shrugs. "Who knows? It seems that we both have unpredictable parental figures, even if yours is of the angelic persuasion." He shakes his head. "I don't know what to call mine."

"Martha called him Jack. It's as good a name as any. Papa Jack?" Kate suggests.

Rick strokes his carefully shaved chin. "Sounds like a pizza vendor, not that selling pizza isn't an honorable calling. I suppose it's as good an appellation as any. How long do you think it's going to take to get these people out of here? After everything that's happened, I could use some alone time with my lovely bride."

"And I could use some alone time with my handsome husband. Esposito's already made his toast," Kate considers. "If you ask Ryan to make one, it could move things along."

"I don't know. That could qualify as cruel and unusual treatment of our guests. I could just ask the caterer to stop putting out fresh trays of food."

"And start boxing up pieces of cake," Kate adds.

"Just so long as there are enough leftovers for us." Rick's eyebrows dance. "I can think of all sorts of interesting things we could do with that frosting."

"Yeah, I can, too," Kate agrees.

Rick grabs another quick kiss. "I'll go talk to the lead server now."

* * *

Epilogue

Kate surveys the shelves of banker's boxes, hoping her next cold case will jump out at her. She can almost still feel the tropical sun on her skin, and the incoming tide tickling her toes. "I can't believe how fast our honeymoon went."

Rick draws her against his side, appreciatively tracing her curves. "It was only a week. In the future, we can have a second one, and a third, a fourth, or however many you want. But I count myself blessed that we can be together, even down here. So, what kind of inspiration do you have to choose your next frigid mystery?

"I have no idea," Kate admits. "Maybe there's one that's been buried for a long time."

"Like that box that's been shoved back behind all the others on the top shelf?" Castle queries.

"Maybe," Kate considers. "I can have a look at it if we can get it down. The step ladder seems to have disappeared."

Rick's voice strains as he stretches upward. "I think I can get it. I'll just, yeah, got it." Papers rain down as the lid loosens. "Oops!" He lays the box on the floor and joins Kate, gathering up the fallen evidence. "What the hell!? Kate, this says Marlowe Prep. My daughter is attending a murder school!"

"Babe, look at the date on the case. The murder was in 1967. I'm sure the perpetrator is long gone by now, maybe even dead him or herself."

"Still, maybe I should have her switch schools or hire a bodyguard." Castle worries.

"You try to pull Alexis away from her friends or embarrass her like that, and you'll have her plotting a homicide — yours. But we can make this our next case. If there's still a killer on the loose, we'll make sure there are no more Marlowe murders."

Castle gathers her into his arms. "I love you."

Kate snuggles against him. "I love you too, and I think I know where to search for our first clue."

Finis

A/N This may seem like a strange place to stop, but the next story will be about a murder at Marlowe Prep and will continue in this universe. Rick and Kate will still be married, and who knows who might pop in? So, join me tomorrow for the opening chapter of "The Marlowe Prep Murder." Love, Sally


End file.
